


Ghosts (NICK AMARO)

by RockWithItWriting



Category: Law & Order: SVU, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-07-26 02:02:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockWithItWriting/pseuds/RockWithItWriting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nick Amaro first saw her she had her nose in a book and her feet kicked up on his desk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

When Nick Amaro first saw her she had her nose in a book and her feet kicked up on his desk. 

He sighed and tried to spot anyone from his squad but it was so early in the morning and nobody was there- besides Nick and the mystery girl. She was plain, a skinny white girl with brown hair and freckles, nothing spectacular about the loose fitting skinny jeans, Nick thought they looked like a boyfriend’s pair of jeans, and a medium gray long sleeve.

In fact, she looked like every other white woman her age in New York and Nick used that to justify the fact that he obviously didn’t know her, but he should have.

When he approached her she made no move or sign to show that she heard him approach, instead she leisurely turned another page and kept reading. Nick set his bag down and then reached for her shoulder, giving it a shake. The woman started, the beanie that sat on top of her hair falling off as she kicked back from the desk and pushed Nick roughly by his shoulder. When she made eye contact, however, the fierce look on her face faded to surprise and Nick watched as she reached up and fiddle with her ear.

“I’m sorry, Detective,” She grinned, out of breath. “I didn’t hear you coming,” The woman swiped the hair away from her left ear and Nick nodded, understanding.

“My apologies, then,” Nick said, extending his hand, “I’m Detective Nick Amaro, and you are?” She shook his hand with a firm grip, surprising Nick.

“Detective Chaplain Churchill. New transfer from one of Michigan’s SVU units, but right now I’m on consult with Narcotics.” Nick grinned.

“I worked two years under in Manhattan Narcotics Unit,” He told her, “What case are you working on?” She waved a hand and dismissed his question.

“That, I’m afraid, I cannot tell you.” Chaplain tapped her temple, “Confidential, as you know some things are.” Nick nodded and set his jacket over his abandoned desk chair, still cocked back from Chaplain’s body weight.

“I understand,” Nick conceided, “Some things aren’t meant to be shared. That’s what being a detective is all about,” Chaplain grinned at Nick, one that made her ordinary face light up with something that Nick couldn’t place. But it made her beautiful.

She ducked down and snatched her beanie off of the ground, replacing it in it’s spot on her head. Chaplain made her way to the front of Nick’s desk and sat down in the chair reserved for interviewing suspects before an arrest was made, and interviewing victims when they came to confess that they were assaulted. “Not to be rude,” He said, grabbing his bag to empty what he needed for the day, the case files he took home last night to go over, “But what are you doing here so early? I know Liv told me to come in early to deliver these to Barba to go over,” He gestured to them and then sat them down on his desk, already feeling the stress of the upcoming day in his bones. Chaplain reached for the files and glanced at them before shrugging.

“I wanted to meet the team, know who I’m going to work with.” He nodded, “When I was with Lansing SVU the team was already set up from when the unit was set up a few years ago. They already knew each other and I was the odd guy out. Sarge told me it would be different here, but she also told me that I could come by and meet you guys.”

“I understand. Back before Liv was made Sergeant and we had Cragen and I was the new guy. It wasn’t fun, but eventually the team let me in. Now? Now it’s Carisi.”  
  
Chaplain kicked her feet back up, the heavy combat boots she was wearing thudding against the metal of Nick’s desk. He sat down, “Well, now I’m the new guy. Should be fun.” Nick scoffed.

“We’re still giving Carisi a hard time and he’s been here nearly a month, good luck, Churchill.” She laughed, a light sound that didn’t match her appearance. Nick almost felt bad with how often he thought she was plain, but it was something slightly different than what he saw. She wasn’t trying to make herself stand out, wasn’t trying to do anything extravagant like some of the women who hit on Nick in the bars. Chaplain was wearing mascara, eyeliner if Nick was willing to be that confident in his makeup identifying skills. Her shirt hung off of her body and Nick wondered if working the Narcotics case was wearing down on her so much that she had stopped eating.

Nick remembered that he had stopped eating his first six months under, losing nearly enough body weight to be considered dangerous, deadly.

“Well, I’ll just have to change that, won’t I? You’ll be too busy poking shit at me to be poking shit at Carisi.” Nick sat down, finally relaxing. He knew it wouldn’t be long until someone else came into the room, came into the bullpen with another case, and he wanted to pick Chaplain’s brain some more.

“I guess you will. Why did you choose Manhattan SVU? I pegged you for the Staten Island type of gal,” Nick did his best to be suave, smooth, but it had been years since he had to put the gas on his flirting skills and he was rusty. Nick wasn’t sure that he should be flirting with the woman who was soon to be his coworker but he didn’t care.

“Flattered,” She nodded, “Though I’m not a fan of Staten Island. Did my time as an officer there,” Nick watched as she pulled up her shirt, leaning back to show the bullet scar that lay just beneath her ribcage. Nick tried to keep his eyes on it, from gliding down the smooth expanse of her stomach or up to the underwire of the white bra peeking out from where she was holding her shirt up.

“Damn,” Nick nodded when she let her shirt fall, her hands locking behind her head as she reclined in such a relaxed way that Nick found himself jealous. “Looks like it hurt,” He observed, but then kicked himself for it. Of course it hurt, he had been shot before. Admittedly, through a bulletproof vest, but shot all the same.

“It did. Put me out of commission for nearly a year. Got an infection because of some shotty doctor the precinct recommended.” Nick grimaced, flipping a pen between his fingers, “Trust me, I sued the doctor and moved out to Lansing, where I started at SVU. Closed ten cases, got slashed up by a perp and then I was going to be forced to retire. Or, I could come back to Manhattan, reconnect with an old friend, and get a job here.” Nick wasn’t sure what to say, but he nodded anyways, pursing his lips. Another pair of footsteps alerted the pair of detectives to another person entering the bullpen, the person that it belonged to whistling a cheery tune under their breath.

“Mornin’, Carisi,” Nick called, waving to the jovial Italian man, “Good news, we got fresh meat. You’re not the new guy anymore.” He grinned at Nick and then his eyes honed in on Chaplain, whose head was turned toward the man clutching a bag that probably contained enough cannolis to feed the whole precinct.

“Mornin’, doll,” Carisi jumped straight into smooching mode, sauntering up to Nick’s desk and setting the brown bag of breakfast on it, “I’m Detective Dominick Carisi, but you can call me Sonny. Everyone does,” Nick scoffed and rolled eyes as they shook hands.

“Don’t let him fool you, Churchill, nobody has called him Sonny yet.” Carisi shot Nick a bitter look.

“I’m Detective Chaplain Churchill,” She said, “Amaro was telling me about how the team still pokes shit at you for being the new guy,” Carisi nodded and rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling.

“He’s not wrong,” Carisi numbled, looking over at Nick, “Though he fails to mention that he is the main perpetrator of said shit poking,” Nick shrugged and tossed the pen at Carisi, which Sonny easily caught and tossed back.

“Well then, I’m sure you’re going to be grateful to have someone to throw it back at. Careful, though, Carisi, I’m snarkier than I look.” He chuckled and then gestured to the bag of cannoli’s.

“Brought breakfast for the squad,” He said, accent thick, “You’re welcome to help yourself to some cannolis if you want,” Chaplain grinned and opened the bag, snatching a cannoli from the package.

* * *

Olivia wasn’t surprised to see Chaplain in the bullpen, but she was surprised when the woman was sitting at Nick’s desk, chattering along with the detective like she had known him for years.

And so, Chaplain wasn’t surprised when Olivia called her to the latter’s office. She rose from her spot and shook Nick’s hand one last time before walking through the bullpen, all eyes on her. She knew that’s how it would be, eyes on her, whispers dropping to near silence when she walked by. The young detective shut the door behind her, greeting Olivia with a wide smile and a handshake.

“Your team is very welcoming,” Chaplain commended, “Detective Amaro has agreed to show me the ropes when I come on full time. Strangely, so has Detective Carisi.” Olivia smirked.

“No coincidence that they both agreed to that after they’ve met you, before they both fought tooth and nail to avoid training the rookie,” Chaplain took a seat across from Olivia as the Sergeant sat in her chair, settling in for a meeting.

“I can imagine so,” Chaplain picked at her nails, looking back up at Olivia, “I never wanted to train the rookie either. I want to be the rookie even less,” Her boss nodded knowingly.

“Now, I would tell you to go home and get some rest before you start next week, but since you’re here, can I have your help?” Chaplain leaned forward when Olivia produced a case file similar to one that Nick brandished earlier.

“Depends. I’m still working with Narcotics on a case, but I assume I can dip my toes into SVU while I’m doing that,” She took the file when it was slide across the desk to her, looking back up at her boss when she recognized the language on the paper in front of her. It was Russian, and Chaplain wasn’t sure why Olivia had it, or why she hadn’t gotten it translated yet, “Why haven’t you had this translated yet? From what I understand you don’t speak, or read, Russian.” Olivia nodded.

“None of our translators know Russian,” She explained, “And we can’t get one on loan because he’s on vacation in England.” Chaplain reached for a pen, scribbling the translations onto the picture of the graffitied wall. She made quick work of it, the language coming to her as easy as breathing. When she was done she passed it back to Olivia, “Thank you, this is going to help us immensely.”

“No problem,” Chaplain stood, shaking Olivia’s hand once more, “Thank you for this job, it really means a lot to be able to get out of Lansing and back in New York.” She knew that Olivia understood and left the office without another word. When she passed Carisi she stopped to talk with him before heading to her apartment to unpack, to set up shop.

“I hope you’re ready to show me the ropes next week, Carisi. I’ll be on full-time, then,” He brightened, grinning at you.

“I’ll see you then, Doll,” Chaplain patted him on the shoulder before making her way through the bullpen, passing Nick’s empty desk. She saw him across the way, sitting next to a pretty blonde girl that Chaplain hadn’t met yet and a black man she also had yet to meet.

People stared at her as she walked, and she didn’t understand why. She was thin, wiry, plain and nothing to look at. The most she had going for her was the hearing aide in her left ear, the near-deafness leaving her unable to be on the force without the aide. She even had special cases made, ones that looped around her entire ear to protect it and keep it in place during scuffles with suspects.

The cool air outside sent a chill down Chaplain’s spine, reminding her that she had yet to purchase a coat worthy of New York’s winter. In Lansing it was cold, if not colder, but at least she was inside most of the time. Low man on the totem pole, she did most of the interrogating. For a long while Chaplain just walked, biding her time until she had to walk back to her apartment and grab her bike to pick up Jace.

Halfway across the street Chaplain’s phone rang, startling her into almost stopping in front of a taxi that was hell-bent on not stopping. She tugged it out of her pocket and answered it, jogging the rest of the way.

“Churchill,” Her voice was curt, stoic.

“Hey, ah,” It was Jace’s voice, nervous and airy. It only went that high pitched when she was lying, or when she thought that Chaplain was going to yell at her, “So I need you to pick me up from school.”

“What?” Chaplain’s voice was more harsh than she meant it, but she also didn’t try to take it back, “What do you mean?” Her niece hummed on the other line, “Jace, come on, you need to tell me otherwise I will leave you at that school until I get home and I won’t call a taxi,”

“No, no, no!” Jace shrieked, “Ah, no! Just, ah, okay, so I maybe got in a fight? Not a big fight, but, uh, it was. It was definitely a fight.” Chaplain sighed, hand placed on her forehead as she stood stagnant on the corner of the sidewalk. She knew her niece liked to fight, but that’s why the teen was in boxing classes!

“Vamos, Jace! Esto no es correcto!” Chaplain let the Spanish roll out of her mouth before she could think about it, old habits dying hard, “I don’t know how you manage to get in so much trouble- you’ve been at that school for one day.”

“It’s not my fault,” Jace insisted, “I promise! They’re letting me go home because I didn’t instigate it and it’s my first day here.” Chaplain sighed and flagged down a taxi, getting into the backseat before instructing the driver of the address.

“I’ll be right there, Pequeño,” The woman sighed into the phone, telling her niece to stay put, shut up and respect the teachers. She put the phone back in her pocket before leaning back in the faux leather seat. Her niece was… Something. A wild fire, just like her mother. Chaplain remembered her sister fondly, but then tried to push the thought back and tried to focus on dealing with the reprimands that Jace was sure to receive.


	2. 2.

Nick hated running, plain and simple.

Okay, rephrase.

Nick hated running on the job. If he was running at home or at the gym, anywhere on his own time, it was euphoric and cleared his head. He owned a treadmill and actually went on runs when he had a day or two off.

But running on the job was different.

It was high risk and it needed a lot of thinking, planning. That’s what drew Nick to running in the first place. He could let his mind wander while his body knew what to do. There was no thinking, no shouting at a suspect, no planning with his partners. No protocol to remember, no bullets to worry about.

Nick liked running, but not through the streets of Manhattan in dress slacks and the shoes to match. He like running, but not accidentally mowing down civilians as he announced his presence at the top of his lungs, gun clasped tightly in sweaty hands.

And Nick hated when he couldn’t even stop to help the civilians he shoved down, hearing their shouts and cries of pain as they hit the concrete but he couldn’t stop, shouldn’t stop, he needed to get the man who was running away from him, casting glances back at Nick- who was hot on his trail.

He was close, but then the man ducked into an alley and Nick tripped up on some poor kid walking with her mom. He scrambled up, half assing an apology as he radioed in where the suspect was going. Fin called him back, he was between the suspect and a brick wall, holding the man with a gun to his chest. Nick was there in a heartbeat, gun drawn as he ordered the man not to move.

“Cuff him,” Nick hadn’t meant to order Fin that way, but he knew that the elder detective would forgive him if it actually offended him at all, “Is he in the right mind to have his rights read?” Nick was seriously questioning it as the man babbled on about blood, gallons of it, flooding the streets and killing off nearly one third of New York’s population.

“I say he is, we mirandize him now _and_ at the station.” Nick nodded and holstered his gun, doing anything to avoid thinking about the throbbing of his knee, or the blood trickling down his leg from a tear caused by the fall he took. Fin shoved the man toward the opening of the alley he ducked into, reading him his rights as Nick watched a stranger approach them, grinning from ear to ear.

“Detective Amaro!” The woman called. Fin gave Nick a sideways glance, just as confused as the other detective. He knew he should remember the woman, but couldn’t place her.

It had been a long day.

“Nick!” He smiled tightly at her and waved, jogging ahead of Fin and the struggling man to meet the woman. As he approached he remembered her, feet kicked up on her desk, a woman who was not memorable and plain.

“Churchill,” He greeted, shaking her hand. The woman laugh and shook her head, taking Nick in a hug.

“Please, call me Chaplain when we’re not in work. Save such formalities for when they’re needed.” Nick agreed, trying out the way her name tasted in his mouth. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to the simplicity of her appearance, how fresh-faced she looked, the way the freckles grouped over her nose and spread out like constellations over her cheekbones and eyelids. He wasn’t sure why he was attracted to her- Chaplain was different in every aspect from his ex-wife and when he imagined being in a relationship again he always imagined someone who resembled the woman he had once been head over heels in love with. In a brief moment he wondered if it was just that he was starved of attention, spending his nights either working late or Skyping with his children. He barely had time for himself and there was a woman who seemed to be someone he would get along with-

Someone he would work with.

Nick shook the thoughts off and led Chaplain to the car, smiling politely at her, “Alright,” He agreed, “I guess if you’re going to call me Nick when you’re off duty, I can call you Chaplain when I’m on duty,” She grinned up at him, “How’s your last days at Narcotics treating you?”

“Is it really my last days? I was only consulting,” She meandered along with Nick, observing as Finn shook his head at the man’s babbling, barely able to push him into the squad car that had shown up when the chase had taken a turn into an alley. “I’m starting tomorrow. I would tell you why, but then it might not go as planned,” When she winked and nudged him with her arm, Nick understood. The bust, the one they brought Chaplain on, was probably going to happen that night. He knew that with the crowd hovering around the four or so cars, and the police officers themselves, that saying anything could put it in jeopardy.

“I see,” Nick nodded and put his hands in his pocket, “What time you are going to be at the precinct tomorrow?” He wanted to pretend like he didn’t care, like he didn’t want to know what time she was going to be there so he could show up at the same time, run into her at the desk and walk her up to the bullpen and be there when Olivia introduced her officially to the team.

“Not sure,” Chaplain said, “What time do you usually show up?” Nick shrugged and leaned against the car, trying to ignore the thrashing of the arrestee inside.

“Depends,” He crossed his arms, “If we’re working a case, I’ll sleep at the precinct. If we’re not I’ll be in at seven or so,” Chaplain noded.

“I guess I’ll see you at seven, Nick.” Chaplain gave her goodbyes and disappeared into the crown. Nick tried to pretend like he wasn’t admiring the way the jeans she was wearing, much skinnier and ripped at the knees, hugged her form in a way that the jeans she was wearing the first day they met didn’t. Fin clapped a hand down on his shoulder, startling him.

“Don’t do it,” He shook his head and Nick looked over, “I see it in your face, Amaro, don’t do it.”

“Do what?” Nick tried to pretend like he didn’t know what the older man was talking about, but he did. Of course he did, “I’m not doing anything.”

Fin rolled his eyes, “Get your ass in the car.”

* * *

The rain was coming down in torrents, soaking through the woman’s hoodie, her skinny jeans, her combat boots with ease. She was running, sprinting, lungs working overdrive to get the oxygen she needed to keep her body moving. She splashed through puddles, slipped around corners and ended up at a brick wall.

The woman, mascara running down her face, “¡No!” She yelled, voice raw from doing the same thing for hours. She whipped around and faced her attacker, “¡Por favor, por favor! No me hagas daño!” Her mother tongue fell out easily, even though she knew that the man chasing her didn’t know Spanish, “Mi hermana va a encontrarme.” She tried to reason, held up her hands as he held up a gun. The shot fired off and the woman screamed, “¡Por favor no! ¡Detener!”

And then she jolted upright in bed, sweating and shaking with fear. Her lungs, much like in the dream, were overreaching, straining. “Dios mío.” She breathed, swinging her leg over the side of her bed, standing with her feet pressed against the cold hardwood, trying to shake the sleep, and the nightmare, from her head. “Jace,” The woman called, “Wake up.” She raised a fist and gave one hard rap against the wall that her bed sat against. She paused and listened to Jace groan, cursing under her breath. “It’s time to get ready for school. I have to get to work,” The teenager didn’t want to be awake, but neither did Chaplain. She wanted to crawl back in bed, wrap herself in her blankets and forget her nightmare for a dreamless sleep.

But she couldn’t. It was her first day at Manhattan SVU and she couldn’t be late, couldn’t make a bad impression. Plus, she had Nick- Detective Amaro- to meet. Chaplain didn’t know why she as looking forward to it, but she was. Once she was sure Jace was up and moving around she walked across the hall to the bathroom, tossing some water across her face in a lazy attempt to wake herself of. Of course it was useless, Chaplain was still stuck in the teenage lull of never wanting to wake up before noon and soon Jace was pounding on the door, asking her aunt to begin warming up her straightener. Chaplain did, rolling her eyes and thinking about the damage her young charge was doing to the pristine, bleached blonde hair she inherited from her mother.

“You’re going to fry your hair off,” Chaplain exclaimed when she opened the door and Jace rushed by, “Be careful.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” She sighed, “¡Salir!” The teenager put her hands on the low of her aunt’s back and shoved her out of the bathroom, slamming the door. Chaplain scoffed at the door and rolled her eyes, wondering if she and her sister were ever that bad to their own mother. _No_ , she thought, _we weren’t. Papá never allowed it._ When Chaplain was done dressing- nothing too spectacular, a black t-shirt, skinny jeans and her boots- she ended up in the kitchen, waiting for Jace to finish in the bathroom, with a jean jacket wrapped around her body.

“Jace,” Chaplain leaned around the corner to the hallway, voice carrying through the passageway, “¡Darse prisa!” Never did Chaplain feel guilty for speaking Spanish until she remembered that English wasn’t Jace’s first language, her second, and Spanish came to her as easily as it did to Chaplain. Jace threw open the door and scoffed at her caretaker, stomping back across the hall to her room, canvas sneakers in hand. “I know you’re almost ready, but come on!” Chaplain shouted, “We have to go! Don’t worry about your hair, you know it’s just going to get messed up on the bike, anyways.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jace stomped into the kitchen, fully dressed in her school uniform and sneakers, “I know. That’s why I keep a brush and hairspray in my backpack.” Jace grabbed a granola bar and rushed Chaplain out the door, pushing the motorcycle keys into her hand.

It was cold, but Chaplain was used to the biting of the chill, crawling under her skin. Jace wasn’t as used to it as the elder of the two, so by the time they were halfway to the high school she was shivering and cursing under her breath, hands clung tightly around her waist. Chaplain made sure to watch until Jace was through the door before she pulled away, swerving into traffic and between cars. She was a cop, not a saint; she didn’t have to obey the law all the time. People cursed her but the drive to the school had taken longer than anticipated, and she was worried that she was going to be late.

She wasn’t wrong but when she screeched up to the station Nick was just getting out of a taxi, paying him through the window and bidding goodbye in a familiar language. Chaplain parked the bike, putting up the kickstand and turning it off.

“I didn’t think you were the type to take a taxi to work,” Chaplain called out, still sitting on her bike. Nick whistled as he approached, eyes appreciating the motorcycle and the girl who sat on it.

“I didn’t think you were the type to ride a motorcycle to work,” He watched as she swung her leg over, running a hand through her brown hair, tangled by the wind.

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Detective,” Nick fell in step with her on the steps up the their workplace.

“Ah,” Nick swung his briefcase loosely at his side, “We’re back to detective, are we, Churchill?” Chaplain gave Nick a small, side smile, wondering why he was being so nice. None of the detectives at Lansing SVU had ever treated her the way he had, nor had she gotten along with them as well as she had the detectives she had met at Manhattan. “Jean jacket, very professional.” Nick commented as Chaplain dug her hands into her pockets, flashing her ID at the desk worker.

Chaplain grabbed the door to the elevator as it shut, holding it open for Nick, “Nobody told me we all had to wear slacks and a white dress shirt,” The comment was directly aimed at Nick, who was wearing that very same outfit, and Sonny Carisi. He, too, was also wearing the outfit she described, but with a suit jacket. The latter was already standing in the elevator, smirking in the way that he did.

“Hey, check the handbook,” Carisi shrugged, “Don’t attack us so you can get away with bending the rules,” Chaplain smirked and turned toward the door. “Anyways, didn’t jean jackets go out of style in the nineties?” The girl snorted and subtly flipped the Italian man off, out of sight from Nick. Who, because he didn’t see, also didn’t understand why Sonny was laughing so hard, or why Chaplain was chuckling along with him. The rest of the elevator ride was silent, bar the humming from the machinery as it delivered them to their floor.

“I think today’s going to be an interesting first day,” Chaplain finally said, just before the door opens, “Though, all the days in SVU are interesting.” She was the first out of the door and into the bullpen, Nick and Sonny hot on her heels. Olivia was waiting, leaning on a new, clean desk that had a gun, badge and an inch high stack of paperwork on it.

“Chaplin,” Olivia said warmly, opening her arms for a hug, “How’s your first day going so far?” The new Detective relaxed into a hug, chuckling under her breath.

“As good as it can be when I’ve only been in the elevator,” She joked. Nick passed by and tried to pretend like he wasn’t listening, like he hadn’t chuckled under his breath at the audacity of the new detective to snark back at Olivia like that. Sure, he did, but Sonny wasn’t even comfortable enough to joke around with their boss.

Chaplain watched as Sonny waved at her, heading to his own desk, but then she returned her attention to her boss, “I’ve got your badge and your gun here, some things you’ve got to fill out, too.” Chaplain took the gun and hooked it into her holster before linking the badge to a chain and putting it around her neck.

“Can these wait until tonight?” Chaplain gestured to the stack of papers that would probably give her carpal tunnel; or, at least, force her hand into letting Jace call the pizza service and order out for once in awhile. “I want to get introduced to everyone and get started on a case; if we have them.” Olivia sighed and looked down at her hands.

“We’ve always got a case, Chaplain. Sometimes they’re open and close, but we’ve always got one. I don’t know how it was in Michigan, but,”

“Oh,” The weight of the gun in the holster attached to her jeans reminded her of the scar below her ribcage, “We had a case everyday in Lansing. They weren’t that bad, but we still had them.” Olivia nodded and gestured for Chaplain to follow her to the middle of the pen, where Sonny and Nick were talking to two unfamiliar faces.

“Alright, guys,” She clapped her hands, “We have a new member of the team; this is Detective Chaplain Churchill and she is going to replace our need for a translator so we can get through cases faster.”  
  
“Wait,” A woman who had a face that seemed too old for her body, like she had seen too much, raised her hand, “How is she going to replace our precinct translators?”

Chaplain spoke up, “I speak more than enough languages to fill in for whatever we may need them for. I’m best in Spanish, Russian and Arabic- not to brag,” She grinned at the team and tried not to let their surprised looks take her confidence down, or her mood.

“Spanish?” Nick asked, breaking the silence, “¿Tu hablas español?” Chaplain grinned, nodding.

“Es mi primera lengua. Mi padrastro me enseñó antes de que mi madre me podía enseñar Inglés.” Nick nodded, sharing a glance with the man beside him, “Raúl was more of a father than my actual father was.” Olivia put her hand on Chaplain’s shoulder.

“But we do have a case to get to, so we can do introductions after I brief you guys,” The squad made their way to the projector and Olivia began debriefing the team.


	3. 3.

_**this story is purely fictional, anything that is like a real life incident is purely coincidental. none of the victims, nor perpetrators, in this story are, to my knowledge, real.** _

Chaplain’s focus was on the screen, a missing teenager who was presumed to be with her boyfriend. 

She had seen cases just like it in Lansing- the girl was in love with the boy, or the boy was in love with the girl, and the parents didn’t want them together so they run away. She was there herself, when she was Jace’s age. But this wasn’t as open and closed as that. Chaplain could tell by the way the girl shook at the ATM, the way she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that someone was, or wasn’t, there.

Someone was following her, or maybe she had run away with them. Either way she was fifteen years old and missing. Chaplain soaked in the evidence, eyes scanning the printed out screenshots of her online activity.

“She isn’t what her mother thought she was,” Chaplain mumbled, her voice riddled with dry humor. “Of course her online activity isn’t monitored,”

“What’s so wrong with that?” The man to her left asked, the one who was introduced to her as Fin. “I know a lot of parents who don’t monitor their kid’s internet activity.” She looked up, almost surprised that someone was speaking to her. She had half-assed mumbled the observations under her breath, never expecting someone to hear her or reply.

 _“Oh, Daddy,”_ Chaplain read off of the paper, _“I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe,”_ The group of detectives looked up, startled by the brash language that was coming out of such a small, nice looking woman’s mouth. “What kind of fifteen year old says that? I didn’t say that when I was fifteen, but I guess times are changing.” Fin looked surprised, having merely glazed over the emails the teenager sent and received.

“You gotta point,” He looked back to the map in front of him, trying to figure out a geological zone of where the two teenagers, or one teenager and another assumed teenager, could have gone. Chaplain was getting sick to her stomach going over the online history, only being able to imagine Jace sending the messages, Jace running away or Jace getting kidnapped. She couldn’t separate herself from the case, not being knee deep into the evidence and the actual discussion. Apparently, when she tossed down the papers and rubbed a hand down her face Nick noticed and leaned over.

“Having trouble?” His voice was low and near her ear, “What’s wrong?” Chaplain looked over at Nick, his eyes kind, and shook her head.

“Bringing home to work with me,” She mumbled. Nick was surprised- and he wrote it all over his face.

“You have a teenager at home?” And when Chaplain nodded he couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped, “I didn’t know you had kids,” He wasn’t sure she was old enough to have a teenager; even though it was common sense that she was.

“Not biological,” Chaplain massaged her temple as if she had a migraine, “She’s my niece, my sister’s daughter.” Nick nodded, trying to conceal his relief. “I keep seeing this girl,” She picked up the file to read the victim’s name once more, “ _Carly_ , as Jace and then I wonder if I know my niece half as well as I think I do.”

He nodded, understanding. Zara was becoming more secretive, egged on by the finalization of the divorce and Gil… Well, he just wasn’t sure what he could tell Nick and what he couldn’t. He didn’t understand what it was like to see his children in the victims, because he never did. Nick knew he could protect Gil, and Zara… He trusted Maria to look after her.

“If you’ve raised her good, you do.” He said, wondering if that was the right thing to say, “When you go home tonight, talk to her. Ask her about her day.” Chaplain nodded and fell silent, looking back over the case. They had no leads, nothing besides the ATM footage and the emails, and Chaplain was stumped. She was feeling inferior and out of practice because she wasn’t on the tail end of the case, interrogating the suspect with all of the evidence and proof that they did it.

She cursed the Sergeant from Lansing under her breath, knowing it was his fault that she had no idea what she was doing. (So, maybe it was her. She had taken a bit of leave from SVU to work Manhattan Narcotics, but that wasn’t what was on her mind.)

Just when Chaplain was thinking that they should drop the case and work on another, with leads, someone shouted from the staircase, calling out for help.

Amanda was the first one out of her seat, as she was closest, and Fin was hot on her tail. Chaplain and Sonny overtook them, longer legs taking longer steps and instincts taking over from years of looking over family tykes at parties. The boy, barely thirteen, was bloodied and staggering. He collapsed into Chaplain’s arms and she fell, to, her knees slamming against the ground as she cradled his sobbing form.

“My sister, Carly, my sister! She was bloody! Oh, _God_ , please!” Chaplain looked up at Sonny and Olivia, the two detectives standing over them with mute looks of horror on their faces.

“What about your sister?” Chaplain asked, her hand rubbing down the shaking boy’s back, “You need to tell us what happened to you, what you saw, what your name is.” Nick’s voice could be heard in the background, calling for medical attention and a bus.

“My name is- his name is, it’s Thomas and, oh, God, my sister!” Chaplain cooed his name, rocking the boy as she tried to figure out where the bleeding was coming from. It wasn’t coming from him, nor was it directly transferred onto his skin, but rather it had soaked through his thin night shirt and pajama pants. He seemed to relax under Chaplain’s motherly hold, his sobs echoing through the room less and less, his words coming more coherently. He was just starting to blabber his story, something about an alleyway and a knife, when the EMS arrived and began to take his pulse, load him up and take him to the hospital. Chaplain was relieved, on some selfish level, that he was on his way to the hospital but she knew that someone would have to go and that someone would probably be her. She had built the rapport, she had held the boy and gotten the blood on her clothing, she would be doing the interview when the boy was laying in the hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines. When the boy was tugged from her grasp she stood and Nick placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t look at him like that,” He ordered, watching Chaplain’s puppy dog eyes as the stretcher rolled away, “You’ll make him feel guilty.” She nodded and tried to mask her pity, her concern, for the boy who was barely a teenager and had to face something in an alley, something that covered him in blood.

Olivia, who had been in a frenzy organizing and taking notes, walked up to Chaplain and held out a change of clothing that they kept in the locker room for cases like this, “Change. They’re going to wash Thomas off at the hospital so we’re going to use the blood on your clothes to get the blood type,” She nodded and peeled off her shirt, with no quarrels about changing in front of Nick, Sonny and Olivia. She was glad she had shed her jean jacket- she would never forgive herself if she had gotten blood on it, no matter what the case- but she grimaced at the gray NYPD shirt Olivia handed her, the jeans that would fit her in all the wrong ways compared to the skinny jeans she clung to from her youth. Olivia held out an evidence bag and Chamberlin dumped the black t-shirt and jeans into it, grimacing as she checked over her body for any transfer.

Nick was blushing, furiously, the red tone under his tanned skin giving it a glowing effect. He kept his eyes trained on Olivia, who was smirking at his obvious discomfort. Nick had never expected Chaplain Churchill to have the gall to strip down to her unmentionables in the middle of the station, slipping on the change of clothing as if nothing ever happened; and yet, there he was, standing next to her as she slipped the material he had once worn on his own body over her head.

“So,” Nick cleared his throat, “Who are you sending to the hospital?” He knew the answer- it was Chaplain and whoever Olivia assigned to be her partner for the day.

“Churchill and,” She glanced over her shoulder, “Carisi!” She waved the man over and he obliged, “You two go to the hospital and interview the boy, Thomas, and see what he knows and where all that blood came from.” Carisi agreed loudly, clapping Chaplain on the back as she excused herself to grab her jacket and motorcycle keys.

* * *

“No, but I don’t understand how you know Spanish and not Italian,” Sonny, gestured widely on the walk up to the hospital, “The languages, they’re similar. Not the same, but similar.”  
  
“Yeah!” Chaplain exclaimed, “You know Italian?”  
  
“I do, my Ma spoke it to me more than English as a kid,”

“Well, what if I started talking in Spanish and said: No entiendo cómo no entiende español si sabes italiano. Las lenguas son muy similares,” Sonny tried to glare at her, but he failed and broke down in laughter, shaking his head.

“You’re something else, Chaplain.”

* * *

The boy was scared, that much was obvious, but he was cleared medically. Mentally, not so much. The doctor was allowing the detectives to speak with him before he was discharged and moved to psych, but she warned them to keep it simple and short. He flinched when Sonny entered, but then visibly relaxed when he recognized Chaplain.

Hell, Thomas even _smiled_ at her.

“Hi, Thomas,” She said, voice soft, “Do you remember me?” He nodded and looked down at the IV in his arm, “My name is Detective Churchill and this is Detective Carisi,” She flashed the badge hanging around her neck, and Sonny did the same, “Did you know that we work with Special Victims Unit when you came to us?”

“That’s why I came to you,” He whispered, voice breaking, “The man told me to go to you, to find Olivia Benson because she could help me,” Sonny tried to move toward the boy but Thomas flinched back and his heart monitor jumped so Chaplain held a hand up and took a seat next to the bedside. She sat down on the edge and sighed through her nose, wondering what the hell she was supposed to say to the traumatized boy, “They told me you could find my sister.” Chaplain nodded and turned toward Thomas.

“We specialize in things like this, Thomas; who are _they_ that you keep talking about?” A trick she learned in interrogation, tell them something they want to hear and then ask a question. The boy looked scared, like he had been told not to say anything. Chaplain figured that it was just that; whoever had attacked him in the alley, held a knife at him and threatened him, had instructed him not to tell. “You can talk to us, Thomas,” Another trick, say their name, “Detective Carisi, you can call him Sonny, and I will help keep you safe.”

“He looks like the man who pushed me in the alley and put the blood on me, except with longer and darker hair,” Thomas pointed at Sonny and Chaplain followed his finger, watching as her partner for the second looked shocked, “And he had a scar on his jaw,” Thomas began trembling, like thinking about the man was scaring him so bad that he was forced to hold himself together with an arm around his middle.

“That’s good!” Sonny praised the young boy, trying to earn his trust. Chaplan watched as he crouched, making himself lower and attempting to inherently get Thomas to trust him by removing the dominance that he held. “That’s a good detail,” Thomas nodded and Sonny began scribbling down notes.

“And he put the blood on me and hit me real hard,” Thomas showed them the bruise, a dark and ugly thing spread across his ribcage and up to his pectorals, “And told me to go see Olivia Benson and the other detectives at SVU,” Chaplain put her hand on the boy’s, nodding and smiling at him.

“Anything you can tell us will help,” She reminded, “Anything that you don’t think is important could be important. You said you saw your sister, and she was bloody? Where was the alley at?” Thomas shook his head, whimpering.

“No, he showed me a picture.”

“A picture,” Sonny exclaimed, “What can you remember about the picture?” Thomas looked between the detectives, looking torn between speaking to them, telling them what the man had told him shouldn’t talk about.

“Thomas,” Chaplain whispered, “Thomas, you need to tell us so we can try and find your sister. You said she was bloody, but what else can you remember? Anything about where she was, or maybe what she was wearing?” He squinted, trying to remember something he didn’t want to. Chaplain felt bad for making him remember because she knew how much it would haunt him later in life and how much it hurt to think about his sister like that.

She knew more so than Sonny Carisi.

“She was wearing pajamas,” He said, voice small, “A blue shirt and checkered pants, like I was. My Mom bought us matching pairs for Christmas. And, there was blood on her face and it was coming from her forehead and it was all over her shoulders and her chest.” He paused to take a deep breath, “And it looked like she was in a warehouse, I used to go to one that looked like it with my Dad before he died,” Chaplain’s heart hurt, ached, when he mentioned his father. According to the file she had read before Thomas had stumbled in, their father had passed in a car accident a year prior. “But it wasn’t the same one,” Chaplain craned her back, pointing at Sonny and instructing him wordlessly to phone Olivia.

“You did a good job,” She praised Thomas, “You did _such_ a good job. Now, I want you to keep a journal when they move you to your new room, okay? I want you to write down your dreams, how you feel about what you saw, things that you remember. And I’ll make sure my Sergeant knows that I’m going to come visit you once a week to get the diary and talk to you, see how you’re doing. And when we find your sister, I’ll be the one to tell you, okay?” He nodded, water welling in his eyes.

“Thank you, Chaplain,” He whimpered, “Thank you. Can you bring my Mom in now? I want to see my Mom,” The detective nodded and felt her stomach twist, patting his hand before standing and exiting the room, surprised to see Nick and Fin standing with the mother, Sonny next to them with a phone to his ear. “Hello, Mrs. Carlston,” She smiled at the mother, trying to make it warm and inviting, “Thomas has been very helpful and he has given us so much to go off of,” Somehow she ended up with her hands clasped between the trembling mother’s, “He has been so brave,” She continued, “And he’s very tired now, but he wants to see you.” The mother nodded and Chaplain could feel Nick’s eyes on her. She almost felt bad for taking over the interview, but she couldn’t leave the boy alone in that room after what he had been through.

“Thank you,” The mother’s voice was stiff and close to breaking, “You’re all working so hard to find my Carly and to help my Tommy,” She sniffed and dragged Chaplain in to a very awkward hug, the younger’s arms crooking awkwardly out to the side as her throat was jammed into the mother’s shoulder. After Chaplain was released the mother rushed by and to her son’s bedside while the detective she accosted coughed and tried to hide her embarrassment as Nick and Fin laughed at her.

“What did you get from the boy?” Fin asked, “Did he say anything worthwhile?” Sonny ended his call, and joined the group.

“Yeah we did,” He grinned at his fellow male detectives, “Kid gave us a description of the guy who held him up in the alley and a possible location for Carly,” He brandished his phone, “That was Sarge, she says that she and Rollins looked into where the Dad worked before he died and she found a district of warehouses licensed to the factory he worked for. She says she wants Amro and Churchill to go check them out, Fin and I will head back to pick the rest of the squad up and meet you guys there,” Nick grinned at Chaplain and patted her on the shoulder as the detectives convened to leave. He wasn’t sure how she had gotten the mother to open up like that- He and Fin spent ten minutes to even try and get her to tell them where she was when Thomas left their apartment.

(She was downstairs collecting mail, but that’s beside the point.)

Chaplain had an effect on people, and Nick could feel it. He was sure the rest of the team could, too.

* * *

The air was cool and the wind was strong, but Chaplain didn’t let that bother her. The screams were too loud over the howl of the wind and she knew, somewhere in her heart, that it was Carly. Someone was hurting her, and it wasn’t at the warehouse, but outside by the docks. She was running, her legs burning with her gun drawn, and Nick was struggling to keep up with her. They were shouting back and forth, trying to find the source of the screaming but it sounded like it was coming from all sides.

Chaplain felt the panic over take her, wondering what would happen if they didn’t find her. But she knew, and Nick knew, and Nick was stopping her with a hand on her shoulder, shaking it roughly. He was calling her name, telling her to… To… To wake up? Nick was screaming at her over the wind, telling her they were at the warehouses.

She looked around, of course they were. They had been there for nearly an hour, running about in the storm, trying to find Carly.

Suddenly the ground lurched under Chaplain’s feet and her body contorted into a sitting position, her breathing heavy and her eyes wide as she felt the weight of Nick’s hand on her shoulder, the other holding loosely to the steering wheel.

“Shit, sorry,” She pushed a hand through her hair and looked over at the concerned man, his eyebrows knit tight in thought, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Nick shook his head and lowered his hand, smiling.

“No, it’s fine. I’ve never seen someone fall asleep so fast in a car, though.” Chaplain chuckled and scratched the back of her head before cracking her door open.

“Es un talento,” She smirked at Nick, “Why do you think I ride a motorcycle everywhere, instead of driving? ¿Por diversión?” Nick couldn’t help but grin at her, and he cursed himself for doing so. It seemed that grinning or smiling was all he could do when Chaplain spoke to him- especially in Spanish. The language was something he had heard all of his life, from birth, but Chaplain had a certain tilt that his family of Cuban descendants did not. He assumed it was because she was white, or seemed white, but he also thought that was whatever.

“Maybe,” He shrugged as he jumped out of the car borrowed from the precinct, “How am I supposed to know? You’ve been working with us for one day,” Chaplain met him at the front of the car and they both observed the mighty expanse of warehouses and docks, like in her dream, that they had to check.

“Hopefully I’ll be here longer than one day,” She squinted in the sunlight, tugging her phone from her pocket and checking the messages, “Olivia says they’re five minutes out- though I’m not sure how. We were closer than they were,” Nick shrugged and leaned back against the car, crossing his arms. Chaplain let her eyes glide over his arms, the way they bulged in the confines of his white dress shirt, rolled up to his elbows. She couldn’t deny that he was an attractive man, bilingual to boot. But he was her coworker and she was determined to keep it professional. “But, whatever, we’ll just wait on them.” Nick sighed and rolled his head back, showing off his jawline.

“It’s probably Carisi driving,” He commented, “He’s the worst driver out of all of us, drives like _un maníaco_ ,” Chaplain snorted, “He’s got barely one hand on the wheel, the other flying everywhere as he tells some long winded story and sometimes,” Nick gestured loosely with one hand, “Sometimes the kid doesn’t even hold onto the wheel! He drives like a maniac!”

“You said that already,” Chaplain pointed out with a joking tone in her voice, “So if he’s such a bad driver, why do you guys put him behind the wheel?” Nick shrugged and lolled his head to the side, shivering in the wind, “One would think that, if he was such a bad driver, he wouldn’t be allowed to drive.”  
  
“I guess we know you won’t be driving, or you’ll fall asleep behind the wheel,” He nudged her with his shoulder, “I see them pulling up, I was right. Carisi’s behind the wheel,” Chaplain snorted and pushed off of the car, doing something Nick could only describe as strutting, to meet where Sonny stopped the car. Olivia pushed out of the passenger seat and met her, already talking about something to Sonny over her shoulder as he stood from the car, stretching his back. Nick soon joined the group as Fin and Amanda did, as well.

“How are we going to canvas this whole place?” Chaplain gestured to it with an arm tossed to the side, “There’s half a dozen warehouses out here,” Olivia took a moment to convene her thoughts and then she began to order the detectives stood around her. Eventually the warehouse was cordoned off into sections, Nick and Churchill were paired up, Carisi and Rollins and finally Fin and Olivia. Nick and Chaplain entered the first warehouse, guns drawn but held loosely. They weren’t expecting to run into the suspect in the first warehouse, nor were they expecting to see Carly strapped to a chair in the middle of the warehouse.

Both detectives dropped as low as they could when they spotted them, standing in the middle of the room. They ended up behind some boxes, crouching next to one another in silence. Nick looked over at his partner for the canvassing, and now the hostage situation, and tried to speak to her with his eyes. Either she didn’t understand or it was too dark to see him, but either way she cocked her gun and  the sound echoed through the room, drawing the attention of the man who fit the description Thomas had given them. Chaplain cursed with only the look on her face as the man cried out. She could watch him through the holes in the pallet, watch as he drew the gun and then spoke.

“Who’s there?” His voice was deep, rough, and it sent shivers down Nick’s spine. “I heard your gun,” Nick decided that if Chaplain wasn’t going to act, if she was just going to sit there and watch as the man swung his arm around and pointed it at Carly’s head, then she was going to do something. Maybe he was wrong when he pegged her as a good cop, maybe she was incompetent and they had to teach her how they handled things in New York rather than whatever bullshit they did in Michigan.

He stood up, announcing his presence by shouting. It bounced off of the walls and the gun was suddenly pressed harder onto Carly’s temple and her voice broke as she began sobbing. “See, I knew you were here,” Nick smirked and cocked his head.

“Smart,” The sarcasm was thick in his mouth, “But not really. See, if you were smart you wouldn’t have let Thomas see the photo that led us to you,”

“Maybe I just wanted an audience.” The man’s hairy was exactly as Chaplain reported the boy describing, the scar on his jaw cherry red and angry, “An audience to watch me kill this bitch, this tease.” Chaplain tapped twice on Nick’s leg and he watched from his peripherals as she moved away, hiding herself in the shadows.

“The tease?” NIck said, moving out in front of the stack of pallets, “How is a fifteen year old girl a tease? She’s barely post-pubescent,” Nick was having second thoughts about Chaplain being a bad cop, because she was moving around the room in silence, completely concealed yet out in the open. The man was focused completely on Nick, and Chaplain was soon in a position to flank him. Nick noticed, in a moment of panic, that her gun wasn’t drawn. What was she doing? Nick figured she was insane, and maybe Liv would order a psych eval after Nick reported it.

“We were emailing, talking online, she wanted to fuck me but when I showed up she said no!” The shout was punctuated with a sharp hit to Carly’s forehead with the muzzle, “She said no and she wouldn’t call me, she, she wouldn’t call me,” The man was losing it, becoming more angered by the presence of a man of Nick’s dominance, “She wouldn’t call me what she called me in the emails!” His voice was a roar and Nick took several quick steps forward as Chaplain approached from the side, still hidden from Carly and the mystery man.

“What? She wouldn’t call you Daddy?” His tone of voice was disgusted, the accent of his words coming out thicker than ever, “How come you wanna be called Daddy, huh? I know some people just like it, but what about you? You got so angry over her not calling you Daddy so you took her, huh? Tied her up and raped her? Forced her to call you Daddy, like you wanted to?” Nick couldn’t keep his voice down, the anger bubbling up inside him when he thought of what the poor teenager, sitting on the floor with bungee cord around her body, had to have gone through. “Did it mean what you wanted it to, when she was crying and obeying every order? Or was it paper thin?” The man’s jaw clenched, and his nostrils flared. Nick wished that Chaplain would just hurry up, do whatever she was planning on doing because the tension in the room was making Nick’s heart beat faster, sweat bead on his neck even though the room was cold.

Nick took a chance, _“Wait,”_ He smirked and took another couple of steps forward, “Wait, wait. Don’t tell me,” To egg the man on, hopefully to turn the gun in Nick himself and not to shoot Carly, Nick took a chance and went with his hunch, “You didn’t finish because she was crying because she was crying while she called you Daddy,”

Nick’s plan worked and the man took several violent steps toward Nick, causing the detective to tense, and then he aimed the pistol in his hand directly at Nick’s head. Their fingers hovered over the triggers and Nick forced himself to keep his eyes off of Chaplain, who was creeping up to Carly with a finger over her mouth. She spoke lowly to the girl, who nodded, and kept crying while the man sputtered incoherently in anger, spit flying everywhere. He had a look in his eyes Nick had only seen in one or two cases.

“I did finish,” The man snarled, “Thank you. And she loved it, she begged me for more,”  
  
“Or did she beg you to _stop_?” Nick barked, “I bet you didn’t finish, I bet you had to leave and had to look up some sick rape fantasy porn online to get off,” The man was about to pull the trigger but Chaplain was faster. Before Nick could even see her, before he could blink, she was launching herself onto the man’s back, smacking the gun out of his hand and toward Nick, as they crashed the the ground. Nick swept up the gun and watched in amazement as Chaplain managed to get the struggling man on his back and then she knocked him out with one swift left hook to the side of the head. The silence took over the warehouse, but it was quickly broken by Carly’s screaming, her thrashing. Nick rushed to her, pulling the duct tape off of her mouth and the bungee cords away from her torso.

He looked over his shoulder to where Chaplain was standing over the man who took Carly, gun pulled on him, as the teenager clung onto Nick, sobbing and still screaming.

“Good work, Detective,” Nick commended, “Even though I didn’t even know what the hell you were doing half the time,”

“I tried to tell you somehow but I figured I just had to go for it, Amaro. I’ll radio this in,” She shot him a grin, obviously looking at the victim that was very much alive, but very much traumatized. Nick figured that it was the fact that she was living, that he had only gotten to keep Carly for one day in the warehouse. Nick couldn’t lie, he knew that Carly had a long road of recovery in front of her, but he was glad that she was alive.


	4. 4.

The station was milling when they arrived back at it, the man collared and pushed into an interrogation room, and for a moment it overwhelmed Chaplain.

 People were crossing paths, talking to victims and looking over paperwork. Chaplain beelined for her desk when she was told that Sonny and Amanda were going to interrogate the man. The newer detective nodded and was happy for the relief.

The noise of the room was throwing her concentration so she took out her phone, plugging in the headphones and turning on her loudest playlist, made specifically for when she had paperwork to do and couldn’t focus. Because of the music, the bass pumping in her ears and the screaming of the lyrics, she couldn’t hear her sister making her way through the ruckus, a change of clothing and a hot meal in her hand.

Chaplain wouldn’t have expected it because she hadn’t checked the time, unaware that the high school had already let out. When Jace put her hand on Chaplain’s shoulder the other jumped and spun, ready to defend herself if she needed.

“Jace!” The aunt barked, yanking her headphones out, “What are you doing here, why aren’t you in school?” Then she looked around and pulled her niece closer, “Did you get in another fight?” Jace shook her head.

“No! Geez,” She thrust the clothing into Chaplain’s hand and the the box of food onto her desk, “Olivia messaged me this morning and told me to bring you some clothing. On my way out the door Mrs. Ramirez stopped me and decided that we needed to eat a home cooked meal tonight,” Chaplain checked the time on her watch, inhaling quickly when she saw that it was nearly five in the afternoon.

“You had me scared, kid,” She breathed, looping her arm around Jace’s shoulders to bring the teenager into a loose hug, “Siéntate, siéntate. I’ll go get some utensils for our food. Maybe they have some in the breakroom, or something,” Jace grinned and took the desk chair, leaving the uncomfortable folding chair for her aunt. Chaplain tried to make it seem like she had somewhere to be, and that she didn’t have a teenager sitting at her desk with no complaint to make. In the break room she found shitty plastic forks and grabbed two of them, hoping that whatever their neighbor had made for them would be able to be eaten with them. On her way out she crashed into Nick, the latter grabbing her arms to keep her from tipping backwards.

“¡Mierda!” Chaplain couldn’t help but let the curse word slip and her hands grip onto Nick’s strong forearms. “Sorry, Amaro,” He shook his head.

“It’s no problem- are those forks?” He had glanced at her hand, purely by chance, and saw the utensils clutched in her palm, “What do you need forks for?” Chaplain thought about lying, but then she remembered that they were detectives and they spotted lying for a living.

“My niece, she,” Chaplain glanced over Nick’s shoulder, double checking to see if anyone was coming,”She brought me a change of clothing and dinner. Our neighbor, Mrs. Ramirez, brought it. I don’t know if that’s allowed but I can’t exactly send Jace home,” Nick nodded and held up his hands.

“No, no, it’s allowed. Just know that if the uniforms get too hard of a case we gotta go,” Chaplain nodded, “And what did your neighbor bring? I might wanna get me some of that,” He chuckled and wiped the rim of his bottom lip with two fingers, “If it’s Mexican food, I’ll take it.” Chaplain laughed and shrugged.

“I would assume so, I’m not sure. You’re welcome to come back to my desk and eat with Jace and I. You’ve got to get your own fork, though,” Nick dipped into the break room to snag a fork and then he followed back to her desk. Chaplain collapsed into the rickety chair next to Jace and lowly explained that Nick was going to join them. Jace raised her eyebrows and flipped her hair over her shoulder into a ponytail before she cracked open the tupperware and the smell of freshly made, traditional chicken enchiladas. Chaplain’s mouth watered thinking about the food and then she realized that she hadn’t eaten since the day prior.

Nick dragged his chair over to her desk, groaning in appreciation when he spotted the food, quickly taking a seat next to Chaplain, with Jace on her other side, “Mi mamá used to make this all the time for me,” He sniffed and grinned appreciatively at Chaplain, “Are you sure that I can eat this with you?”  
  
“This is too much food for us to eat, I don’t care,” Jace spoke. It was like Nick was seeing her for the first time, the teenager grinning at him, “Plus my aunt invited you so we’re stuck.” The man chuckled.

“My name is Nick Amaro,” He stuck his hand out, still half thinking about the food in front of them, “What’s your name?” Jace shook his hand, nodding at the detective.

“Jace Andrews,” She answered, “And I’m assuming you’re a detective, too?” Nick nodded and then Jace scooped up a bite of the food, popping in her mouth, “Dig in. It’s not the best way to eat enchiladas, but it works.”

* * *

Nick was full, his stomach filled with wonderful food that rivaled his mother’s. The trio who had been eating were fat and happy, leaned back in their chairs chatting idly about nothing.

“Where’d you get that bruise?” Nick finally asked, pointing to the healing mark on Jace’s face,  “Looks nasty.” He had a moment of fear that it was Chaplain, and that her character wasn’t what he had seen over the day he had spent with her. Had she been beating her niece? After a hard day of work, go home to slug the kid she agreed to take care of?

Nick banished the thoughts as soon as they flickered through his head. Jace answered with a dismissive flick of her wrist, “I got in a fight at school. Little tussle, nothing big.” Nick shared a look with Chaplain, who looked like she was at her wits end with the teen.

“Nothing big?” Nick echoed.  
  
“Yeah, slapping on some freshman who-”

“-Who called a kid a faggot!” Jace defended herself, holding her arms out to her side in a ‘what the fuck’ gesture. “I’m not gonna sit back and let some _homofóbica_ harass someone!” She looked livid, but Chaplain held up her hand.

“Lo entiendo, I do. I would have done the same thing, but you could have at least punched the kid! An open hand slap is nothing but a slap on the wrist to people like that. _Intolerantes_.” Nick’s eyebrows shot up and he leaned forward, laughing under his breath.

“Did I just hear what I think I heard?” He nudged Chaplain with his hand as if they were good friends, “Did you just tell her to assault someone, Detective Churchill?” The way he was grinning at her, it was easy for Chaplain to see why the female uniforms watched after him as he walked past, “I can’t believe my ears!” Nick knew he could be crossing a line with her, as he wasn’t familiar with Chaplain’s full sense of humor.

“What are you going to do, Detective Amaro? Cuff me? Put me in lockup?” She popped the last sound of her sentence, the lilt of her voice turning suggestive. But it was soft enough that Jace didn’t catch onto it, but Nick did. He raised an eyebrow, a wide smirk spreading across his face. He rubbed his chin before leaning forward, dropping his voice lwo. (‘Two can play at that game!’ were his exact thoughts, but if you asked, Nick would never admit it.)

“Only if you ask me to, corazon,” Chaplain grinned, lighting up her face. From as close as Nick was he could see the way the freckles were clustered over the bridge of her nose, spreading out into constellations spread over her cheekbones and across her jawline. Nick wanted to reach a hand up and trace his finger over the trail the freckles took, but he knew it was because she was an attractive, although plain, woman and she was giving him attention.

“¡En tus sueños!” She leaned back, tossing an arm around Jace easily, “Nice try, though.” Jace snickered and returned to her texting. Nick blushed from the collar of his shirt to his forehead, his eyes tracing over the curve of Chaplain’s cheekbone with a certain… Shine in them. She felt almost uncomfortable under his gaze but she trusted her gut, Nick was a good guy. She was sure of it. Nick opened his mouth to talk, but he never got the chance because Olivia approached them, overlooking the empty container with nothing but scraps before clicking her tongue.

“Chaplain, I can get someone to run Jace home but we need your language services in the interrogation,” Chaplain looked behind her, up at Olivia, and gave her a questioning look.

“Aren’t you interrogating the guy Nick and I caught today?” Olivia nodded, “Okay, but why? He speaks English,”

“He does, but there’s another girl besides Carly. He gave her up, told us what he did to her, but he also said there’s another body.” Chaplain shifted her weight to her feet, looking down at Jace with concern. She wasn’t even close to being an adult, only sixteen, she didn’t need to hear the dirty details of death. “He says he won’t tell us where it is in English, and we have no idea what language he’s speaking,”

“Yeah,” Chaplain was distracted, nodding and rubbing her mouth with her thumb and pointer finger, “Yeah, uh, is that okay with you, Jace? Get someone to run you back to the apartment?”  
  
“I can catch a taxi,” Jace said, standing, too, “You can change and then give me the money for a taxi home. I’ll text you and Olivia when I get there, just to make sure.” Nick stood, too, hooking his thumbs into his pockets.  
  
“If you feel like you’ll be safe,” Chaplain said, looking down on Jace, “You know the rules, right? No strangers, don’t give them our address, pay in bills.” Jace rolled her eyes and pulled her hair down, combing a hand through it. Nick felt like she had heard the words many times before and Chaplain seemed like the type to repeat things like that, set them in stone.

After he watched Chaplain’s brows pull together with concern, her arm pulling Jace in for a hug, lips finding her niece’s forehead in a quick kiss, Nick felt bad for blaming the bruise on the teenager’s face on Chaplain’s knuckles. A sick feeling in his stomach grew because it was the second time he had doubted her character, which was obviously strong. It was almost like he didn’t want to trust her, or she was so appealing to him that he wanted a reason to reject the attraction for a total stranger that he was feeling.

Whatever it was, Nick was sure confused as he tried to avoid looking at her bottom when she walked Jace out. “So, what language is the man speaking?” Nick asked Olivia as they waited for Chaplain to return.

“I’m not completely sure, but Chaplain might know. If she can’t speak it then we can get someone up here to.”  
  
“Why do you think he decided to switch it up? Some game?” Olivia nodded.

“That’s what we’re thinking. His fun was over when he stopped talking to you in the warehouse and when we recovered Carly. He needs a new game to play, and watching Detective’s struggle to figure out what he’s saying is the perfect game to him.” Nick nodded, pushing his hands deeper in his pockets. He decided to make his way to the observation room, watching as the man he apprehended paced, running his hand through the greasy black hair that Thomas described. The look of the man made Nick sick to his stomach, a different feeling than when he thought of his mental accusations toward Chaplain. It was a deeper, more sickening feeling that came with the depression thoughts of what that man had done to a fifteen year old girl who had gotten in over her head online.

 _Man,_ Nick thought, _I hope I never have to be on this side of the glass looking at a man who hurt Zara._ He didn’t think he could handle it, watching the man play sickening mind games to get off, to lengthen the torture of the girls he raped and killed.

He already felt horrible for the teenager that had her best years taken away by the pervert. Nick felt bad for the teenager that had to sit on the stand and testify to what he did to her, what he took from her. Blood boiled in his stomach like acid and he felt his fists clench, forearms tensing. He hated the man in the room, wanted to give him another scar, but he knew he couldn’t. Nick could fudge the whole testimony if he did that. But he wanted to.

“Careful, Detective, you could break your jaw clenching it like that,” Nick didn’t realized that he was clenching his jaw, or that Chaplain had been standing next to him in a replica of the outfit she was wearing that morning, holding a caseful.

“I just can’t stand guys like these,” He muttered, “Pricks who think that they can play with people’s lives,”  
  
“I understand. Sergeant told me to bring one of you in with me, even if I can’t get him to talk in English. I was going to take Carisi, but do you want to do it? It might make you a little less…” Nick looked over when she didn’t continue and she flushed, “Agresivo. Sorry, I couldn’t remember the word in English.”  
  
“Happens to me all the time,” Nick pushed past Chaplain and grabbed the handle of the door that would lead him to the scumbag, “Don’t worry about it.” He watched as she changed, her body becoming more rigid, tighter coiled and the air of dominance she hadn’t had prior wafted off of her. To Nick, he was surprised. He hadn’t expected her to be able to switch gears so quickly but as he followed her into the room, he had to applaud her.

“Good evening,” Chaplain said cooly, dropping the case file on the table in front of the man, “I presume you’re Preston Ringer?” The man smirked at her.

“Jy is die een wat my in hegtenis geneem, moet jy nie reeds my naam leer ken?” Nick was surprised when the syllables fell from his mouth with ease because the language sounded like gibberish to him. Chaplain seemed to recognize it, though, because she clicked her tongue.

“Yes, Preston, I am well aware I took you into custody. Why are we speaking Afrikaans?” Preston, Nick hadn’t bothered to learn his name before the moment Chaplain spoke it, just smirked up at her.

“Hoekom is jy op soek na ‘n dooie meisie?” Nick wanted to smack his head off of his shoulders but his partner just sank into the seat across from him and templed her hands. Nick stood to her left, arms crossed and jaw clenched so hard he thought he was going to break a tooth.

“Preston, it’s rude to speak a language that Detective Amaro doesn’t. We don’t want to be rude, do we?” The smile, paired with the sickly sweet tone and the tilt of her head made Nick want to laugh. Especially when Preston’s scar seemed to redden with his anger, pulse jumping in the vein that was popping out from his neck.

“Maybe Detective Amaro should learn some other languages, educate himself!” The table jumped when his fists slammed down on it.

“I know more than one language, _cabron_ ,” He snarked, “Try again.”

“I won’t speak unless he leaves,” A hand was jammed in his direction and Nick slammed his own fist on the table, bending over it to glare at Preston.

“You don’t have the choice,” He growled, “You think I’m leaving you in here with her?” Chaplain, the aforementioned _her_ , placed a gentle hand on Nick’s twitching bicep.

“Nick, backup,” She ordered, “Tengo esto bajo control,” He held her stare for a tense moment while Preston smirked but then he stood, flexing his arms before moving to lean against the slit of wall between the door and the mirror that served as a window. Preston spoke again, slower, in the language. Chaplain bit out a bitter laugh, startling Nick, and replied swiftly in a harsh tone, leaning forward as if she was going to leap across the table and tear his throat out.

“Moenie my weer bedreig,” She snarled, “Do not threaten me again,” It was the same tone and Nick wondered what the man had said to invoke a reaction in Afrikaans and English, “I will make sure that you will suffer, that you will go to a prison and that they will know that you raped a teenager, that you possibly raped and killed more children. Do you know what they do to children rapists in prison? They kill them, they rape them. Is dit wat jy wil?” Nick watched in amazement as Preston began to shake. He had severely underestimated Chaplain- she was a good cop and an even better interrogator. In barely ten minutes she had the man shaking, probably ready to give up the location of the body.

“Do you really want to know? Leave. I want to talk to _mooi seun_ over there,” Nick scoffed and rolled his eyes but Chaplain stood and nodded, patting Nick on the arm. He followed her out of the room and she turned around and sighed.

“I’ll be out here and if he says anything in Afrikaans I’ll slip a note under the door with the translation, okay?” Nick nodded but before he could make it back in the room he turned back to Chaplain.

“Hey, what did he call me in there? It all sounds like garbled much to me,” His question drew a laugh from the tense woman and she shook her head.

“Do you really want to know? He called you pretty boy. I’ve got to say, he’s not wrong.”

* * *

The tension in the room made Chaplain want to go back to biting her nails, but she knew she couldn’t go back to that. It had taken her too long to stop and she wanted to keep her nails healthy and strong so she could keep them coated with a thick layer of black polish.

She watched as Nick paced the room, one arm cross across his chest, the other propped up on it with his hand stroking his chin.

“Flattered,” His voice crackled through the PA system, “That you think I’m pretty. I wish I could say the same about you but,” Nick grasped Preston’s chin and smirked at the scar before tossing his head away. “You’ve got that ugly scar across your jaw. How’d you get that? One of the girl’s fight back? Get you with a heel?

“No, wait,” Nick held up his hands and grinned, “I forgot. You only mess with kids young enough to be your own.” Chaplain turned away, pressed her back against the window as Sonny approached her. He had a tired look in his eyes and two coffees in his hands. Silently, he offered her one.

“You look like you’ve had a long night,” Chaplain observed after she thanked him, “Sergeant got you working a different case than the Ringer case?” Sonny nodded.

“Yeah. She’s got you and Amaro on that, she doesn’t need me. I’m working a low level kiddie pron ring and we’ve got TARU tracing something right now.” he leaned against the wall with her, listening to Nick work over the perp who, funnily enough, didn’t want to talk.

“Is children porn ever low level?” She scoffed, “Poor kids,” Sonny agreed, turning around when someone slammed down on the table.

“Miskien het ek nie iemand dood te maak!” Preston bellowed, “Did you ever think about that?” Chaplain scoffed and whipped around to open the door, sticking her head through.

“He said: ‘maybe I didn’t kill anyone,’ and, hey, Ringer. We know you did because you said so, remember?” She slammed the door and joined Sonny again. His hair was slicked back and Chaplain had to admire the way he pulled it off. Not many people could and look attractive, but somehow Sonny pulled it off.

Another long drink from the coffee he brought and Nick began yelling.

“Should we calm him down?” He asked, “I know I’ve been here longer than you have, but he’s opened up to you more than any of us.” If the conversations she had with Nick were considered the man opening up, Chaplain was surprised. He was almost as locked down as she was.

“No,” She answered, “I don’t think that Preston deserves that, do you?” Sonny shared a smile with her and they laughed. He didn’t disagree, but he didn’t speak again as he stood next to Chaplain and sipped his coffee.

To most it would be considered weird, but Chaplain enjoyed it. Sonny wasn’t pressuring her to speak, and she wasn’t pressuring him. He certainly was attractive- was that all Chaplain could think about around her male coworkers?- and his accent was something that Jace would have described as ‘to die for.’

Though she wasn’t sure how he compared to Nick. They were both attractive but Nick was… Something else. He had something that drew Chaplain to him, but she wasn’t sure why. Sonny, though, was visibly attracted to the woman beside him.

Even though she wasn’t as clued in as some people to the inner workings of the mind paired with facial expressions, she wasn’t blind enough to forget how boys looked at girls in high school when they had a blooming crush on someone. Though, she hadn’t figured out how she felt about that yet.

“Do you think he’s going to get the confession out of Ringer before the night is over?” Sonny finally asked, “Or are we going to put him in holding overnight?” Chaplain shrugged.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t been here long enough to get a read on your skills as individuals. It’s still my first day, you know,” Chaplain gestured with her coffee cup, “It’s a long first day,” Sonny agreed, smiling down at her.

“I remember my first day. Went undercover as a John and almost ended up getting my head blown off,” Chaplain raised her eyebrows.

“No kidding,” She blanched, “I think I would have to quit if Sarge put me under on my first day here,” She happened to glance behind her and smirked when she saw Preston near tears, gritting his teeth so he didn’t cry. She had been half-assed listening for the prior fifteen minutes and Nick was doing a damn good job breaking Preston down. She remembered how he brought up impotence in the warehouse, how violently Preston had reacted. Chaplain was glad that Nick had remembered that, otherwise she would have to stick her head in to reprimand the detective.

“Hey, why don’t you go home?” Sonny suggested, “If he starts blabbering in that other language we can call you. I would check it with Sarge, though,” Chaplain nodded and gave Sonny a soft pat on his elbow before leaving to find Olivia, the clock on the wall ticking and reminding her that Jace was home, alone, and had sent her several drawn out texts that portrayed her boredom.

When Olivia gave Chaplain the go ahead she was out on her motorcycle, heading home in the never-dark of New York City.


	5. 5.

_**this story is purely fictional, anything that is like a real life incident is purely coincidental. none of the victims, nor perpetrators, in this story are, to my knowledge, real.** _

Her phone hadn’t quit ringing since she let her body collapse onto the couch and finally, around three in the morning, she pushed her aching body up to answer it.

“Churchill,” She tried to be quiet because Jace had school and she would be damned if she woke the grumpy teenager earlier than she had to, “What’s wrong?” Maybe she had misread the contact name and it wasn’t Olivia, because when the person on the other line responded it was a male voice, low and rumbling.

“What? I can’t call my own daughter?” Raúl’s voice sounded exhausted, like he had just gotten off of his shift and called his daughter on her first day of work.

“Lo siento, Papá,” Chaplain smiled, letting herself down on the couch, pulling the blanket that hung on the back over her body, “It has been a long day.”

“¿Estás bien?” He asked, the concern taking over any drowsiness in his voice, “Are you okay? You’ve never sounded this tired back home after a case,”  
  
“That’s because I’ve never worked on a case before, Papá,” She heard Raúl’s hum, asking her to continued, “I had to do leg work on this one, I took down the suspect before he could shoot my partner,”

“¡Buen trabajo!” He praised, “Your mother will be so proud, I can’t wait to tell her.” Chaplain laughed, nearly falling asleep in the silence Raúl let hang over the phone, “How did the interrogation go? The guys down at the station were asking about your first day when I stopped by after my shift.” Chaplain smiled, thinking about the men at the Lansing fire house and how they were basically an extension of her family.

“The man apparently lost his English after he admitted to abducting and raping the teenager we found, admitting to at least two other girls but not giving us their bodies.” Raúl inhaled deeply, trying to keep his cool when he thought about the sick son of a bitch that his daughter had to be in the same room with, “He decided that Afrikaans would be the best thing to speak and, since I am fluent, they didn’t have to get a translator. I humored him for ten minutes and then he spilled his guts to Nick,”

“Nick?” Raúl’s voice took on the suggestive tone Chalain was able to mimic so well, “You’re on a first name basis after one day?” Chaplain snuffed a laugh out of her nose.

“I’m not at work, Papá. I can’t call him Detective Amaro all the time, lo sabes.”  
  
“Yes, I know that. I’m just messing around with you, can’t I do that anymore? You’ve moved to New York and lost all sense of humor.” Chaplain let herself laugh, let the noise ring around the apartment before Raúl spoke again, “How is my _nieta_? Is she behaving herself?” Chaplain sat up, eyeing the opened door to Jace’s room, the girl sleeping soundly in her bed.

“She got into a fight on her first day, but that’s about it,” Raúl shouted out a question, and Chaplain had to hurry to answer if before her father started to mumble in Spanish and she really got in trouble. “I didn’t ground her, though. A kid was using slurs, Papá, you know how she feels about those. She was in the right, no matter what the school may think.”

Raúl sighed, and then commended her for her parenting skills, “You really are honing your skills,” He said, “You’re becoming a better parent everyday, amor,” Chaplain’s heart soared, ecstatic that her father was happy with how she was raising Jace.

“Thank you, Papá. Can we talk on my lunch break, though? Estoy muy cansado, I had a long day and I have one in front of me,”

“Sí,” Raúl agreed, voice soft, “Sleep, love. Call me on your lunch break.” Chaplain nodded and she knew that Raúl would know her mannerisms well enough to know that it was happening.

“Goodnight,” Chaplain was almost asleep when she was speaking, “Te amo, Papá,” Her father repeated the sentiment and they hung up. Chaplain dropped the phone and she was back to sleep before the device even hit the carpet.

* * *

Surprisingly Jace was the one to wake Chaplain when the alarm sounded, rising from her own bed and turning it off before waking her aunt. It took a hot minute, because the woman was exhausted from talking to her father, but Jace couldn’t know that.

“Hey, Aunt Lain,” Chaplain groaned, and tried to swat away the hand that was on her shoulder, “Look, I get you’re very tired. You got back real late last night. But you have to wake up. I have school and you have work, ¡vamanos!” Chaplain finally roused, pushing herself into a sitting position before pushing the butt of her palms into her eyes and groaning.

“Are you ready? ¿Que hora es?” Chaplain wondered if she had time to shower before work, or if it would have to wait until after the day at work. Jace checked her watch, mumbling the all too early time. “I’m going to go shower, you better be ready by the time I get out, kid,” She pushed down on her head in a joking manner before lumbering to her room to pick out what she would wear to work.

Growing up in the rougher part of town, everywhere she lived, had certainly affected her fashion choices. She knew that she should dress up, like Olivia, to go to work but she couldn’t make herself do so. She picked out skinny jeans, long ripped from her years of skateboarding, and a tight fitting, black long sleeve. She pushed past Jace to get to the shower, stripping as the teen closed the door. She turned the shower as high as it could go, the steam billowing out almost immediately. Chaplain tried to avoid looking at herself in the mirror, avoid seeing the slashes on her back, the bullet wound on her stomach. She didn’t want to see the burn scar on her thigh.

So, without turning around to look in the mirror, Chaplain stepped into the burning shower to wash herself, wondering if the redness of her skin was blood stains from years ago or irritated skin from the heat of the water. She knew, of course, in common sense, that it was the water but she wondered why she felt like the blood was still on her.

“Come on!” Jace’s fist hit the door after nearly half an hour in the shower and Chaplain jumped, “We’re pushing it! We might be late!” Chaplain rolled her shoulders one last time before she shut the water off, stepping out and dripping over her floor. Did she care? Not really.

She barely pushed the towel over her skin and through her hair before she clothed herself and tied her still wet hair up in a bun so that it could dry, and maybe not look like shit. Jace looked surprised when the door was opened.

“Don’t hit me in the face, Jace,” Chaplain joked, gesturing at the hand the teen was holding up, ready to knock. Jace blushed and looked down at her feet before grabbing Chaplain’s arm and dragging her forward, grabbing her backpack and the backpack Chaplain filled with things for her desk the night before.

“We need to go! I have to meet someone at the library before school to work on our science presentation a little more,” It was a flimsy excuse, but Chaplain let it slide.

She remembered what it was like to be sixteen years old, going out with someone for the first time. Chaplain wouldn’t push it, she would let Jace come to her on the teenager’s own time because otherwise she wouldn’t tell at all.

“Alright, alright. Yeesh.”

* * *

“Sorry I’m late,” Chaplain was out of breath from running, dropping her bag under her desk before joining the grouping of detectives, “I hit bad traffic after I dropped Jace off at school, and we left early.”

Olivia shook her head.

“You’re fine. We’re still waiting on Amaro. He called just before you got in,” Chaplain nodded and smiled, taking a seat next to Sonny and Fin.

“I would have called, but I was on a motorcycle,” She shrugged, picking up the case file in front of her. She was surprised they already had a case, and an interview with the victim, “When did we get the call for this case?” Chaplain asked, “There’s already an interview, I don’t think I got a phone call last night.” Olivia shook her head.

“I got the call around midnight, brought Nick in. It was your first day, I’m sure you didn’t want to be interviewing a victim on little to no sleep.” Chaplain shrugged.

“I can do a lot with a little,” She explained, “I would have been fine to come in, do my fair share,” Sonny nudged her with his shoulder.

“Be glad you didn’t get the call. When I first got here I got a call like that before I even got into my front door.” He smirked at her and then Nick came rushing in, mumbling about traffic and collapsing into a chair on the other side of Sonny. They shared a look before returning their attention to Olivia, who was ready behind presenting the case to the group.

“I received the phone call at midnight last night about a attempted rape down the street from here and, when we arrived the attempted rape had turned into a real rape.

“The victim is twenty six year old Aaliyah Reynolds. She called from a payphone and 911 patched her through to my cell phone at home, she was hysterical, saying that a man had pushed her into an alleyway and attempted to rape her. I was responding to her, telling her to head to somewhere that was better lit, when she screamed that he was coming back and then the line went dead. I called Amaro and then made my way to the alley with Aaliyah said she was in to find her unconscious and bleeding heavily from the vaginal area and other wounds on her body.

“I called a bus and met Amaro at the hospital where Aaliyah woke up, but there was no memory of the incident, let alone the phone call she made to 911.”

Chaplain was sick to her stomach, looking over the crime scene photos and the report of the rape kit that was in the file she was holding. She had never seen something so brutal, even though Carly was more beat up, more scarred. Chaplin didn’t have to see the blood marks on the alley ground from where Aaliyah was raped. Her stomach turned, tried to jostle up the food that she hadn’t eaten that morning.

“When we interviewed her she couldn’t give us anything, but the doctor assured us that when she got a night of rest she would remember more. Aaliyah was diagnosed with post traumatic amnesia, low on the scale,” Nick said, filling in the detectives on what they had missed while they had been sleeping, “He’s seen it before in rape victims, hell, so have we.”

Chaplain had experienced it, but she didn’t want to say that outloud.

“I’m going to send Fin and Rollins to the alley to see if anyone saw anything or if CSU missed something last night. Amaro, Churchill, you two can go back to the hospital and see if Aaliyah is awake yet and Carisi can come with me to find her next of kin,” The group stood, and Chaplain immediately became dizzy, disgusted by what she had seen. The day prior, with Carly and Thomas, it all happened too fast for her to think about what Carly was going through, the nerves of her first day at SVU pushing back the nausea.

But her mind was moving too fast with the pictures of Aaliyah’s injuries, the details of the phone call. Nick was talking to her as they walked, heading for the car assigned to them, but as they passed the bathroom Chaplain had to rush in, banging into a stall. She bent over the toilet and dry heaved, her stomach cramping up as Nick called her name from outside of the women’s bathroom.

Chaplain wasn’t sure how long she had heaved, but by the time she was finished there were tears rolling down her cheeks and Nick was announcing that he was entering the bathroom, finding his partner looking smaller than he could have imagined seeing her.

“Hey, Chaplain,” his voice was soft, small, and he rubbed her back, “Are you okay?” She tried to nod but could only manage to choke out a sob and shake her head.

“We never saw anything like this back in Lansing. ¡Nunca! I have never seen a teenager and her brother so hurt, so traumatized and I have never seen such a mujer inocente brutalized,” Her breath was barely being drawn, tears still peeling down her face as her stomach still twisted with grief and angst.

“Lo sé, lo sé,” Nick whispered, “I understand. I get it. It’s hard your first few days here. I didn’t sleep for a week after my first case. You’ll get over it, you’ll be able to sleep again, be able to eat. Trust me.” Chaplain finally calmed down and sat up, her knees pushing hard against the linoleum floor.

“That’s the problem, Nick. I don’t want to get used to it. No quiero ser complaciente,” She sucked in a deep breath, finally feeling the familiar shame roll through her system as her eyes dried up, “If I get used to it I’m afraid I’ll become a monster,” Nick sighed and helped her up, leading Chaplain to the sink to wash her mouth and cool her face with a wet paper towel.

He spoke as he towelled her forehead down, bringing the flush out of her cheeks, “Let’s go talk to Aaliyah. Seeing the victims will keep you from getting complacent. Knowing that there’s girls and kids and people out there that need your help will keep you on your toes.” Chaplain nodded and closed her eyes, breathing deeply through her nose to keep from collapsing in humiliation in front of her partner. She had went years without people seeing her cry, and one day at SVU in a big city, doing leg work, ends that.

“Lo siento,” She whispered and gasped when Nick pulled her into a hug.  
  
“Don’t apologize,” Then he let her go and headed for the door, clapping Chaplain on the shoulder, “Now let’s get going. Aaliyah needs us, yeah?” She looked after him for a moment, pushing her sleeves up before adjusting her shield that hung around her neck. Nick was being kind, more kind than anyone on her other squad had been. She was almost suspicious, but brushed it off as she followed him.

Nick was right, of course he was. Aaliyah… She needed the help, needed Chaplain to have her head in the game. She needed to be all there, clear headed. She couldn’t be clear headed if she was sitting in a bathroom stall, dry heaving and crying her heart out. If her father, her biological father, found out she had cried in front of someone- in front of a man- she would have been locked up until she apologized and learned her place.

The car ride, surprisingly, didn’t put her out. The rain was coming down heavy and, halfway to the hospital, Chaplain spoke.

“I don’t remember it raining this much,” She touched the window, “But I was young then. I didn’t care about the weather.” Nick just looked over at her and shook his head.

“You were young? You are young, Churchill. You’re the youngest of the squad, fresh meat.” Chaplain laughed and turned to Nick.

“It’s not like you guys are old, though You’re all fairly young, I would say.”  
  
“We’re old,” Nick said, “Do you remember being a teenager and thinking that people were old when they were in their mid-thirties? Now we’re that age and we can’t do what we used to be able to,” Chaplain fingered a hole in the denim of her jeans.

“I used to skateboard,” Nick turned the car into the hospital parking lot, finding a spot rather quickly, “I can’t anymore. Joint pain,” Chaplain couldn’t help herself, she had to let her laugh mingle with Nick’s. She knew that he was doubting her story, and that it was probably just that she didn’t have the time.

“I can’t imagine you on a skateboard,” He said, turning the car off and pocketing the keys, “It’s a strange picture.”  
  
“You also couldn’t believe I drove a motorcycle even though you had seen me on it,” Chaplain pointed out, opening the door and swinging her legs out of it. “Come on, Amaro, we have a woman to help.”

* * *

“My name is Detective Amaro,” Nick took control as the doctor tried to keep them out of the room. He flashed his shield, Chaplain uncrossing her arms to show her own dangling between her breasts. “I arrived last night with Aaliyah Reynolds and I’m back to interview her with Detective Churchill,” The doctor nodded and looked down at her clipboard.

“Miss Reynolds is awake now, her post traumatic amnesia has, fortunately, let up. She has been asking to speak to detectives since she woke up, but we thought it would be best to wait until you showed up so she had time to relax after the initial shock of gaining her memories,” Chaplain nodded and brushed a hand over her shoulder to quell an itch.”I’ll let you in,” He unlocked the door, probably per Aaliyah’s request, and opened it for Nick and Chaplain.

The latter of whom stopped to drop a comment, “Please leave the door unlocked. I’m not sure how much experience you have dealing with victims of rape but back in Lansing? We had two victims kill themselves in their hospital rooms because doctors actually locked their doors. So, let’s not,” She sounded condescending, but she meant to. The doctor was putting her survivor at risk, and Chaplain wanted to insure the utmost safety of the victim. Nick, who had stopped next to his partner, grabbed her arm.

“Churchill,” He muttered, “We need to speak Aaliyah,” She nodded and followed him.

When she set eyes on the girl in the bed, she gasped and couldn’t help herself. Chaplin muttered, “Dios en el cielo, por favor perdona nuestros pecados.” She resisted the urge to cross herself. The girl looked worse than in the photos as the bruises had time to settle, to worsen. Chaplain felt sick again, but she knew that she had to be strong so that Aaliyah didn’t have to.

“Morning, Miss Reynolds,” Chaplain smiled at the woman in the bed, taking up barely half of it. She didn’t look like she was twenty six, more like sixteen. “My name is Detective Chaplain Churchill, and you remember Detective Amaro?” She nodded and smiled at him. “Can we ask you some questions?”She nodded again and Nick took a seat next to her bed while Chaplain stood back, pulling out a notepad to start the interview.


	6. 6.

There were no leads, nothing. Chaplain had written down everything that the victim said and even sketched out a preliminary sketch of the perp before they could bring the precinct artist in.

Chaplain had gotten the nose wrong, too crooked and large, but Aaliyah had started shaking when she saw the messy drawing.

That’s the thing Chaplain hated about being able to draw; it had been tainted by years of interviewing people, whether when she was with Lansing SVU or out working the streets with Narcotics. Her drawings immortalized some of the worst, most heinous criminals, her pen traced their cheekbones and the cupid’s bow of their lips and victims, like Aaliyah, shook at the sight of them.

Chaplain knew that it wasn’t her fault, that her skills with a pencil only helped them find the criminals, but she still felt the guilt eat at her as she followed Nick’s heavy steps out of the hospital, but stopped him just before the exit.

“Wait, Amaro,” She grabbed his arm and he turned to her, confused, “I made a promise,” She uttered, “And I’m not sure if I can go visit Thomas when the trail is about to start.” She was asking without asking, trying to find the boundaries that Manhattan set on it’s detectives. He seemed to be debating in his head, bouncing around things that could happen either way.  
  
“Just don’t speak about Aaliyah’s case,” He finally said, “Record the conversation on your phone, anything he gives you? Admit it as evidence as soon as we get back. Ringer’s attorney will try to make it as conspiring and, if you don’t take precautions, he could walk.” Chaplain nodded and bit her lip, tugging her phone out to prepare it to record everything. She would send it to Nick and he would send it to ADA Barba and admit the conversation as evidence, the same with any diary he gave to Chaplain. Nick followed behind her and flashed his shield as she did before entering the psych ward, heading straight to the room number scribbled on the palm of her hand.

She knocked, sticking her head in, “Thomas? It’s Detective Churchill, can I come in?” The boy called out, laughing with a voice that Chaplain couldn’t place, and invited them in. “I brought a friend with me,” She said as she pushed open the door, “He’s my partner, Detective Nick Amaro.” Thomas grinned up at her from his spot on the floor, Carly next to him as they looked up at a television hooked on a wall, “Carly!” Chaplain beamed, “I’m glad to see you out of the bed!” She was bandaged, of course, with a cast on her left ankle and bruises all over her face, but she was conscious, she was smiling.

“I’m glad to be up, Detective. The doctor told me that I probably shouldn’t, but I wanted to see Tommy.” Chaplain glanced behind her at Nick, who motioned to his phone. She clicked the recording app and began a fresh recording. She sat down slowly, watching as both children flinched even though she was gentle, “He saved me.” Carly, even through what she had been through, was shining with strength, “You saved me. Thank you.” Nick sat down next to Chaplain, trying not to wrinkle his slacks.

“It was all Thomas,” Chaplain praised, “He’s a hero. Now, it’s mandatory that I tell you that I am going to record our conversations so, when the trial comes around, it could be used as evidence. Your mother agreed to this already, when we first recovered you and Nick thinks that it would be best so that Ringer’s attorney,”

“You mean the man defending my rapist,” Carly bit out, the fire in her voice and her eyes startling the detectives, “The scumbag, the _fucker_ who held my brother at knife-point,” Chaplain was barely able to contain her cough at the language, but she bit it back while Nick shook his head, a small smile on his face. It was small, bitter, and Chaplain knew that he had probably heard that from a victim’s mouth more than once.

“Yes,” Chaplain said, “Remember, Carly, this is being recorded and has the possibility of being played in court.”

“I don’t care if they hear that. It’s what’s going on. That man is representing the person who raped me, put me in that warehouse to kill me, almost killed my brother. He’s the reason we’re in the psych ward, the reason my mother can’t look me in the eyes.

“I can still feel his hands on me,” Carly’s voice shook and Thomas leaned into Chaplain’s side, trying not to hear. Chaplain felt guilt, sick once more, and she burned with a hatred for the man she interrogated, the man that put the bruises on Carly’s face, “I can remember what she smelled like, what the scar on his jaw felt like as he tried to push his head between my legs.

“I can remember it all, and I hate the man who’s trying to say that Preston Ringer didn’t rape me, kidnap me, rub my blood all over my baby brother and send him to the police. He almost killed your partner in the warehouse and if you hadn’t have disarmed him, Detective Chaplain, he would have. Then he would have killed you. Then he would have killed me. The only thing that I’m grateful for is that he was dumb enough to use one of the warehouses connected to where our Dad worked.” She was done raving and everyone else was left breathless, “I’m feeling a little light headed,” Carly mumbled, “My doctor told me if I started to feel dizzy I had to go back to my room. Are you okay with Detective Amaro and Detective Churchill, Thomas? I can stay if you want.”  
  
“No, no!” The boy jumped up, grabbing his sister’s crutches, “Mom needs you to get better before she needs me to get better. I’m getting out of here in a few weeks, anyways. Go rest.” Carly smiled and kissed her brother’s cheek and he wrapped his arms around her before walking her to the door.

Chaplain and Nick took the opportunity to stand, stretch their adult limbs and find a better seat. Thomas shut the door, ambling to his hospital bed before reaching for something beneath the mattress, “Mr. Barba came by with Sergeant Benson after you left with Sonny,” Thomas really had taken a shine to Sonny, Chaplain noted, “And he told me that if I gave you my diary you needed that as evidence, too, because it could be used to put that man away.” Chaplain nodded and took the worn book, already filled after barely a day.

“That’s right, Thomas. We can use this in court, but if you don’t want absolutely everything in this, you cannot give it to us.”  
  
“No,” Thomas shook his head violently, “No, I know that everything can be used. I want everything to be used. I already filled it all up because I was terrified, every moment, since you found me. You don’t understand, neither of you understand. I can hear Carly crying out down the hall; she hasn’t slept yet. It’s only been one day since everything went to shit, but feels like weeks. We’re never going to be the same.” Chaplain held the book that the boy handed her close to her stomach as she tried to comfort Thomas. He was shaking, near tears, but his jaw was clenched in an attempt to keep himself together.

“I understand more than you think,” Chaplain whispered, “Trust me, Thomas. I understand that you want to help, so keep drawing these, okay?”  
  
“You’re doing great,” Nick finally jumped in, “You and your sister. I’ve never seen two children stay so strong, united, after something like this. We’re all proud of you down at SVU, you know.” Thomas managed to break out a watery grin before jumping up to give Nick a hug.

Chaplain would have pinned him for a person to shy away from children, to cringe away from their touch, but Nick melted into the embrace. He hugged Thomas like a father and Thomas hugged him like a son.

It was heart-melting to watch. _Él es tierno,_ she thought, _and good with kids_. She knew that her father, Raúl, would approve if she came home with Nick on her arm. But she couldn’t have that thought on her brain as Thomas gave her a hug and thanked her.

“We should be thanking you, Thomas, you really helped us.” Chaplain said, “But Detective Amaro and I are working on helping another woman, so we’re going to take your journal to Mr. Barba so he can admit it as evidence,”  
  
“And the recording, too?” Chaplain nodded, “Thank you. Both of you. Can you tell Sergeant Benson that, too? And Sonny?”  
  
“I’ll make sure that she tells them, champ,” Nick ruffled the boy’s hair and they shared a grin at each other, “But we gotta get going.” Chaplain bid goodbye and waited until they were outside of the door to stop the recording, “Send the file to me and I’ll forward it to Barba,” Chaplain nodded and tried to wipe the drowsiness off of her face, but she could feel the stress already beginning to wear down on her shoulders. She sent the file off to Nick before wrapping her arms around herself, as the thin, black fabric of her longsleeve didn’t protect her from the downpour that started outside while they were visiting at the hospital. Nick jogged forward, starting the car and leaning across the seat to open the door for Chaplain.

“Such a gentleman,” She commented, pulling her hair down and shaking it out. It was dry from her shower, but wet from the rain and the bun had caused her curls to morph into some monstrous tangle that stood out from her head. “I never pegged you for a gentleman,” She mocked his tone and Nick laughed, handing over his phone.

“Hah, very funny,” He said, flipping on his turn signal, “Call Liv and tell her we’re on our way back and we’ve got a description, and your sketch, and a general statement of what went down on her end of the phone call.” Chaplain nodded and it felt like drawing was burning through the pocket of her jeans. But she dialed anyway, speaking to Olivia as she looked over her notes, repeating some of the details. She ended the call, setting Nick’s phone on the dashboard before she groaned, looking up and finding the car rolling up to a line of traffic.

“How long is it going to take to get back?” She asked, tossing her head back, “I’m going to go stir crazy in this car,”  
  
“We’ve been in the car for barely five minutes, Churchill,” Nick grinned, putting the car in park. They weren’t moving anytime soon, “You’re glad you became a cop and not a criminal, aren’t you? You wouldn’t last one day in a cell,” Chaplain snorted and decided that she could trust Nick.

“Jokes on you, I survived _three years_ in a cell,” She said casually, causing Nick to almost break his neck as he whipped around to look at her, “I went under for Narcotics before I joined Lansing SVU, busted a drug ring inside and out,” Nick relaxed, and then looked impressed.

“That’s not bad,” He commended, “Good work.” The small compliment Nick gave Chaplain was enough to make her feel warm in the pit of her stomach, because men like Nick didn’t compliment her, men like Nick barely looked at her, barely even spoke to her. She was too plain, too much of an average woman, to be looked at. The most Chaplain thought she has going for her was her was her physique, her flat stomach and her muscle tone and her bone structure. It gave her the body that prettier woman craved, prettier woman worked toward and Chaplain had been born with it.

“Thanks,” Chaplain finally said, glad that she didn’t blush, “Means a lot coming from a cop as skilled as you,”

“Was that sarcasm?” Nick asked, “Don’t sass me Churchill.” His laugh filled the car as it moved forward, “I can’t believe we hit traffic.” Chaplain rolled her eyes and turned her body to lean against the door, crossing her arms and observing Nick. He looked relaxed, but she could tell that he wasn’t. His muscles were too taut, too tight, as he held the steering wheel. His jaw was clenched. Something was wrong.

“Hey, did I offend you? I really think you’re one of the better cops that I’ve seen.” Nick glanced over, surprised.

“No, no,” He shook his head, holding a hand out, “You didn’t offend me. I’m just thinking about Aaliyah and what she’s had to go through. It’s times like this, in the car, when I have enough time to think about what she’s got to live through for the rest of her life. Unless she kills herself,” Nick looked out his window, picking at his lip with his left hand.

“Aaliyah seems strong,” Chaplain reached over to comfort him, rubbing her hand over his shoulder, “I don’t think that she’ll kill herself. The way she was talking, the anger she had, she won’t do it. Are you always this emotional with the victims?” Nick nodded.

“I try not to be, you know? I try to distance myself but when I’m alone, or rather not alone here, I can’t. It’s too hard to see their lives ripped apart, to see them suffering in their own body.” Chaplain nodded, understanding.

“I see Jace in every victim,” She confided, “All of them. I saw her in Aaliyah’s eyes, I saw her in Carly’s anger. The way she burned from the inside out. Everywhere I look, even in Lansing, when I only got to interrogate the suspects and see the victims at trial, I saw Jace in them. It’s like I don’t know how to separate them from my niece.” Nick looked surprised, like he wasn’t sure why Chaplain had told him, but that he was glad she did. Chaplain had never confessed that before, never spoke that outside of the confines of her bedroom with nobody listening.

“Everytime I see a girl under the age of twelve, I see my daughter. Everytime I see a boy who won’t talk to us because he thinks it’ll make him less of a man? I see my son. Everytime I see a woman raped or mourning the loss of her children, I see my ex-wife.” He admitted, “I can’t imagine being the parent being interviewed instead of the one interviewing them, I can’t imagine my daughter being in the hospital bed, not being able to protect her.”

Chaplain almost stopped breathing when she heard the mention of, not only a daughter, but a son and an ex-wife. “I didn’t know you had children,” Nick, even though he was shaking with rage, and probably some sort of sadness that he tried to hand down, he ended up smiling.

“Yeah. Zara’s my little girl, Gil’s my boy.” Nick pointed to his phone and told Chaplain to unlock it, “My ex-wife has Zara in LA right now, Gil’s not too far away from them in San Diego.”

“That must be hard. My familia is in Michigan, and I can’t stand being that far away from mis padres y Enrique y Raquel.” Nick looked over, eyebrow cocked as the car moved forward some more. “Enrique y Raquel son mis hermanos. Enrique is six and Raquel just turned fifteen. The same age as Carly, yet I could only see Jace.”

“You’re in charge of protecting Jace, not Enrique and Raquel.” He took a moment to ask himself whether or not that he wanted to ask her, “No offense, but how did you end up being named Chaplain while they named their other children Enrique and Raquel?” Chaplain laughed, nodding her head.

“Mi Papá, Raúl, raised me in place of my biological father, who was white. He named Tanya, my older sister, and I. Enrique y Raquel are Raúl’s children, half Cuban, so they got more traditional names from his family while I got saddled with Chaplain.”  
  
“And Tanya?” He asked, “You’ve talked a lot about Jace, Raquel and Enrique, but not her. Why’s that?”

“Tanya was shot,” Chaplain’s voice soften, becoming almost silent over the rumbling of the traffic around them, “She was shot when Jace was a newborn. I took her in and raised her as my own. Since my Papá raised me to speak Spanish, and then English, I raised Jace the same way even though Tanya had gotten knocked up by a man who was whiter than our biological father was.” Nick nodded and then managed to make the turn that would lead them back to work.

“You seem like a good person,” He observed, eyes on the road, “A good parent. Better than I am.”  
  
“Why would you say that?”

“I left my kids like my father left me, though I wasn’t so sad about that.” He turned into the parking lot, scanning for a spot, “I let Maria take Zara to LA without even fighting,” Nick gritted his teeth and then he shook his head, “But we’re not focusing on me, we’re focusing on Aaliyah right now. We have to get our reports in so we can start looking for this scumbag,” Nick’s outburst seemed to break the trust that had accumulated in the traffic and Chaplain watched as his face closed off, eyebrows falling and turning in, mouth pressing together in a straight line. It was amazing, because she had seen that happen to her own face in the mirror so many times before. She wondered what Nick had seen to create that wall over his eyes, the one that held his emotions in, turning whatever he may be thinking into nothing, into professional sternness.

“I understand,” She nodded. When she looked out the window, to the droplets of rain rolling down it, suddenly she felt like she shouldn’t have told anyone anything, “Let’s get inside.

* * *

He had crossed a line, and he knew it. He shouldn’t have said that, let Chaplain in on what he was feeling inside. He tried not to tell anyone, but she had told him so easily about her sister, about her father, and he felt the need to return the favor and put some trust in her. But his only problem was that he’d been working with her for two days, barely forty eight hours, and he shouldn’t trust her yet.

He’s seen dirty cops flip faster than that but he had also seen dirty cops keep a low profile for longer. Nick needed to keep his guard up because she was from Lansing, and she wasn’t allowed to do anything besides interrogate- there had to be a reason.

As he followed her in, Nick shook his head. He needed to cool off, to actually trust someone for once. Maybe it was because he was attracted to her? He had put his trust wholly in the rest of the Squad when he arrived, but that was because he had Cragen talking them up for nearly an hour before meeting them. When Nick met Chaplain he had no prior warning, she was just sitting in his chair with her boots on his desk, reading a book on God knows what. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t trust her, but he knew that he had to start. Nick had a feeling that she was going to end up being his new partner because Carisi seemed to be working more so with Olivia and Amanda and Fin were, and had been, partners for a long while.

“What did you find?” Olivia was the first to see the two detectives return, spinning and latching her eyes on them, “I know you said you got a sketch, and our artist is with Aaliyah now. We can compare them when he gets back. Barba also said that he received a file from you, Amaro, something for the Ringer case?” He nodded and held his hand out for his phone from Chaplain, who handed it over.

“Yeah, before we left Churchill stopped to talk to Carly and Thomas. We recorded the whole thing and sent it to Barba to be admitted as evidence, we also have his journal to be admitted.” Chaplain held it up and retrieved an evidence bag from her desk before sealing the journal in.

“I told him I would read it, but I think Barba would do better with it. Though I’ve never met the ADA, I have heard nothing but good things from Carisi,” Sonny grinned at her and made a _not-bad_ face. Olivia nodded and rubbed her chin before gesturing to Amanda, “Take it down to Barba’s office and let him know that we have a detective that has a rapport with the victims. Carisi, Fin, you go meet with the sketch artist and then compare it with Churchill’s.” Chaplain ripped out the sketch, a messy drawing of a man with a small nose, glasses and spares amounts of facial hair. He was balding and Chaplain knew that she could easily sit down and draw for longer, coloring it and then they could get a better drawing but it wasn’t her job. Her job was to investigate, to translate, to get justice.

“What do you want me to do, Sergeant?” Nick asked. Chaplain looked over and fiddles with something on her desk. Olivia sent Nick to his own desk to file some paperwork and then she sent Churchill down to a local brewery to fetch some coffee for the squad.

That particularly annoyed Chaplain, but she didn’t say anything about it. She knew she was the low man on the totem pole once again, but even in Lansing she didn’t have to make coffee runs. She jogged across the street, pushing her hair back into a ponytail before entering the coffee shop. She had everyone’s order and told it to the barista, patiently waiting and feeling slightly humiliated. Was it really such a slow day that she had to go get coffee? Why couldn’t she do paperwork, like Nick?

For the first time in her career, she was wishing for paperwork. Chaplain snorted as she took the coffees from the barista and paid before stepping back into the New York rain. She wished she had brought her jean jacket to work, but it was still hanging over her coat tree at the apartment. 

Thirty seconds later, however, Chaplain wished she had been paying more attention.

Nearly back to her sqad with the coffees, she stopped to check if Jace had sent her a message with the teen was at lunch, but there was nothing. During the time she was stopped, however, a body slammed into her, fumbling the coffees and Chaplain’s phone. The person, Chaplain managed to catch the long, black hair of a woman, quickly pressed the detective to the brick wall of the precinct.

Her breath stank of alcohol and the scent swirled in Chaplain’s head, making her sick to her stomach, “Are you Detective Chaplain Churchill?” The woman sneered, an arm braced over the struggling detectives collarbones, the other pressing a rather sharp set of blades into her stomach. When the arm slipped to Chaplain’s throat, causing her breathing to become sparse, she stopped struggling and nodded.

“I am,” Her voice was hoarse, nothing but adrenaline coursing through her as the coffee on the ground heated the soles of her boots. She couldn’t believe that people, a lot of them, were passing by with no glance to the duo pressed against the wall.

Hell, Chaplain had only been pinned for two minutes and she had already seen four uniformed officers, none of which had even glanced in her direction.

“Do you know who I am?” The woman looked familiar, but Chaplain knew that she had never seen her before. With eyes as piercing green as hers, as filled with hatred and malice, Chaplain would have remembered them. She shook her head and the woman grinned, “Mel-o-dy Rin-ger,” The woman spoke slowly, her mouth turning up into a grin as she pressed the sharp objects, maybe blades, into Chaplain’s stomach harder. “You put my boy in the slammer, for something he didn’t do. You coerced a testimony!” Melody backed off, letting Chaplain onto her feet only for a moment.

Then her right hand swung out, slamming into the side of Chaplain’s head. Immediately her head twisted back, neck cracking with the force. Blood immediately clouded her vision, pouring from multiple cuts on her face from the metal wrapped around Melody’s knuckles. It jarred Chaplain, her reaction time slowed by the blow to the head, so by the time she realized what had happened Melody was already swinging again, her fist cutting up through the air and landing a blow in the middle of Chaplain’s stomach, “You know he didn’t do it! You know he didn’t rape that girl!” Chaplain coughed and fell back into the brick wall, the blood already starting to come up through her throat and past her lips.

Chaplain, however, managed to get one good swing in and landed a solid blow to the side of Melody’s head, but it barely rattled the older woman, who landed a sharp kick to Chaplain’s side. It was her second day and she was right outside her workplace, but she was already being assaulted by a family member of a rapist, already seeing stars and unable to defend herself.

Melody laughed and it was bitter, hard.

Chaplain managed to get a second wind, throwing a right and then a left in quick succession, knocking Melody on her ass. Then she was able to duck down and dial her speed dial, Jace, before Melody brought her knee to Chaplain’s stomach, effectively ending any speech that she was once able to make. She could hear Jace calling out, but when Melody realized that the phone was on she brought her heel down on it.

It was then that she kicked Chaplain, hard, in the opposite side as her other foot landed. The detective yelled out, finally, and curled in on herself. She fell to her side and tried to pretend like her body wasn’t aching and she wasn’t too weak to fight back. Her yell brought attention to the brawl, several uniformed officers running over to grab Melody, but she was already gone, leaving Chaplain groaning in an ever growing puddle of her own blood.


	7. 7.

_**this story is purely fictional, anything that is like a real life incident is purely coincidental. none of the victims, nor perpetrators, in this story are, to my knowledge, real.** _

The only thing she could hear was the ringing of her hearing aid as it glitched, soaked in the coffee that was on the ground.

Chaplain’s face was pressed to the pavement, hard, and she was trying to wish the pain away.

Voices were hovering about her hands on her hips, her shoulder, and Chaplain wanted them to go away, wanted everyone to, “Go away.” Her voice was soft, eyes clenched shut and then she said it again, with more force, “Go away!” One of the officers must not have heard her and leaned down, hand curling over her shoulder and then dropping to her neck to feel for a pulse. Chaplain pushed him off, getting into a sitting position faster than her cramping stomach should have let her.

She couldn’t hear anything from her left ear, and because of the wounds above and next to her eyes, she couldn’t see. Her back slammed against the brick, right hand curling over the wound on her stomach that was still gushing blood, left hand shoving the officer back. She was snarling, confused and disoriented. Thoughts were spinning and she pushed herself up, the officers standing back to give her space.

Her cell phone was crushed on the ground and Chaplain’s hearing aid was pretty much fucked, so she reached up and pulled it out of her ear and dropped it next to her feet, “No hospital,” She mumbled, “Don’t call an ambulance. I’ll be fine,” She waved them off with a bloody hand and somehow managed to make her way into the precinct. The officers followed, talking hurriedly on their radios to others, still trying to get Chaplain to seek medical help.

“Fuck off!” She shouted, barely able to stand when she reached the elevator. When the doors opened, she made sure that nobody got inside with her and let herself lean against the wall of the elevator to check and see why her stomach was bleeding so much, the blood already dripping down onto her jeans, onto her thighs. When she looked down she saw four rips in her longsleeve, looking much like a cheap werewolf attack from the movies Chaplain watched with Jace, late at night, “Oh, shit,” Chaplain pulled the fabric from the wound, rolling the shirt up. Her stomach looked much like the shirt that covered it, “Oh, no.” She let the shirt fall, her head tilted back against the wall. One eye was closed and her ear was out of commision so it was only when the elevator rumbled to a stop that Chaplain knew she was on her floor.

The squad room was a rush of activity, uniforms and detectives with victims and suspects, so nobody noticed when Chaplain staggered out of the elevator, a hand pressed to the wounds next to, and slightly over, her eyes and one clutching her stomach. She was halfway to Nick’s desk, the only thing she could really, actually see, when someone on her right side, her good side, screamed and pointed at her. Nick looked up from his victim, standing quicker than Chaplain, or Sonny, had seen.

But Melody was faster.

She must have been crying to Amanda, playing victim, because she was two steps ahead of Nick, a binder in her hand. Everyone saw, and everyone saw that Chaplain wasn’t in the right mind to fight back or get out of the way.

Melody swung back with all of her might and then she brought the binder down on the side of Chaplain’s face, the side without the cuts on her face. The room spun around her, twisting and turning. It was like Chaplain was the only person standing on the only stable service and the rest of the world was flying out of control.

Melody was grabbed by Amanda and before Nick could make it to Chaplain the floor jumped up to meet her, mind going dark.

* * *

It took Nick barely three seconds to recognized the crimson drip of blood down the side of Chaplain’s face, the stains on her jeans.

In those three seconds he saw something that turned his stomach. Four scratches on the left side of her face; one below her eye, one level with her eye, one just above the eye but below the brow and one through the brow.

Nick wasn’t sure what happened between the moment when he first saw her and when the victim that Amanda was speaking to, but something did. Suddenly Amanda was all over the woman and Chaplain was looking over her shoulder, eyes glazed. He tried to reach her before she reached the ground, he did, but Chaplain fell so fast while he ran so slow, legs tangled in the terror of what happened to her.

He was the first to reach her, running his hands up her spine to check for abnormalities that would indicate a broken spine and then he felt her neck, looking for the same but also looking for a pulse.

“She’s just knocked out,” He called through the pandemonium, “But there’s a lot of blood. We’re gonna need a bus out here,” He tried to keep his voice steady and then Sonny dropped to his knees next to Nick. “Let’s get her over,” Sonny nodded and helped Nick roll Chaplain over, grimacing when the blood covered his hands. Nick thought his jaw clenched but it was not the time to be thinking about it.

“Who did this to her?” Sonny asked as they worked to stop the bleeding; Sonny’s hands on her head, Nick’s hands pressing into her stomach, the blood seeping through the cracks of his fingers. The chaos around them was nothing to the scary, cold calm in Nick’s head. Everything was clear to him, the woman that Amanda was still wrestling with, was out for blood.

“I’m assuming she did,” Nick said through gritted teeth, “But with what, I don’t know.”

Olivia had been in her office when it started and Nick wondered if this sort of thing had ever happened before, if that’s why she hadn’t come out of her office when she first hear the shouting.

“I am on the phone with Jace Andrews now and she can barely get a word out because she says her sister is- what happened?” Nick looked up at Olivia and felt fear strike through him. He was covered in her aunt’s blood and she was calling Olivia.

“She stumbled in here all covered in blood,” Sonny said. Nick noted how his accented thickened with the panic in his system, “And then one of our vic’s lobbed her over the head with a binder. She’s bleeding real bad, Sarge, Fin called a bus and they should be on their way.” Olivia looked at Nick, who nodded affirmatively. And then Olivia paled, raising the phone to her ear to speak to the teenager that Nick was sure was panicking, crying, afraid.

Nick’s hands had been shaking so he pressed them down harder, hoping he hadn’t been shot and that he was pushing the bullet around while he was trying to hide his shaking hands. Sonny’s were shaking to and the men shared a terse look before glancing around for something to stop the bleeding more than just hands.

Fin had found some rags through the ruckus of pushing the victims downstairs to the uniforms and clearing the room, so when he finally made it back to where Nick and Sonny were squatting over Chaplain he passed them to the frantic men, covered nearly to their elbows in blood.

Nick took the majority of them, hastily peeling back Chaplain’s shirt and gasping when he saw the ragged tears in her flesh. “Carisi,” He said, “Look. These look like the marks on her face.”  
  
“They almost look like,” Sonny took one hand off of the rag on the side of her head to run a finger around the edge of one of the tears, “Like someone hit her with keys between their fingers.” Nick nodded and covered the wound with two rags, bundling another in his hand to put pressure on the wound.

“Guys, I found this on Miss. Ringer’s person,” Amanda held up a pair of steel knuckles, dangling them with one finger. Nick saw the blood on the metal and then something clicked within his head.

“What did you say?” He barked at Amanda, “What was her name?” Amanda looked affronted, but repeated the name, “Dammit,” Nick turned back to Sonny, “That name sound familiar to you, Carisi? Miss Ringer?”

The same look that had blossomed on Nick’s face repeated on Sonny’s before he spoke, “ _Ringer_ , as in Preston Ringer?”

“Bus is here!” Fin called from the window.

“Melody must be his mother,” Nick guess, legs cramping from his knees being pressed tightly against the linoleum. “Tell the medic’s to get their asses up here, now!”

* * *

The room buzzed around her and Chaplain wondered if it was because of her partial-deafness in her left ear or the pounding migraine that was blooming behind her eyes as she woke. Her body felt numb, the familiar burn of morphine running through her.

She groaned and tried to open her eyes, but her left eye saw nothing. Her right eye was fuzzy, unable to focus on any or one thing. Her mouth felt cottony and, most of all, she felt angry. Day two on the job and yet, there she was; laying in the hospital bed alone, the sun going down through the window.

“¡Tía!” The shout came from Chaplain’s left side, so she let her head lazily fall and her right eyes settle on Jace. She was curled up on the couch in the room, wearing the clothing that she had left for school in, “Oh, Dios,” Jace stood and rushed to Chaplain’s side, tears on her cheeks, “Me alegro de que estés bien,” Chaplain nodded, clasping Jace’s shaking hand in her own.

“¿Que pasó?” Chaplain didn’t trust her voice at first, but it cracked and then strengthened, “Dónde está Melody Ringer?” Jace shook her head and pressed a hand to her eye, trying to wipe away the tears.

“Interrogatorio,” Jace answered, “Olivia and Fin are giving her infierno,” Chaplain smiled, feeling her chapped lips crack and nodded slightly.

“I’m not too ugly, am I?” Jace shook her head before breathing in deeply, “What’s the news, then, médico?”

“No stitches, eso es bueno. The cuts might scar, but the ones on your stomach are the deepest. Even then they just needed to be let clot, and to be cleaned and covered. Your face is saved, unfortunately.” They laughed, “Olivia said you’re on medical leave until el médico clears you. Eso es malo,”

“Sí, eso es malo. Was anyone else hurt? Nick? I saw him run toward me before Melody hit me with the binder.” Jace gave her aunt a knowing look before she stood and pulled a chair to the bedside instead of sitting on the mattress.

“Nick’s in the cafeteria, getting himself a coffee. A man is with him; Rafael? Barbara? Algo así,” Jace waved her hand, as if it wasn’t important. Chaplain coughed, her heart monitor jumping with the force needed to expel the air.

“Barba? As in ADA Rafael Barba?” Jace snapped her fingers.

“That’s it!” Her laugh faded into something more serious, “I thought I had lost you. Like my mom.” Chaplain nodded before linking her hand with Jace’s, “I’m supposed to get the doctor when you wake up. Ha sido un largo de seis horas,” Jace stood and rushed from the door, red eyed and trying to conceal her fear.

Chaplain relaxed, the ache beginning to fade through the medicine. She could feel the cuts on her stomach, her eye was throbbing. The shame was also beginning to come back, the thoughts that her boss, and all of her coworkers, had seen her like that. Seen her covered in blood, unable to defend herself, passed out. Chaplain could only hope that she hadn’t pissed herself when she went down, like she had seen some others do. The door opened and Chaplain was just about to ask the doctor for a hearing aid to replace her coffee soaked, trodden on broken one, but it was Nick with a rather large cup of coffee in his hand.

“Chaplain,” He sighed, rushing to her side. She could see blood stains on the edges of her rolled up shirt as he set his coffee down, “Estoy tan contenta de que estés despierto,” He mumbled, taking the seat that Jace had once occupied. Rafael entered behind him, a much smaller and more expensive looking cup of coffee in his hand.

“Estoy contento que estoy bien, tambíen,” Chaplain replied, smiling at Nick. “I have a killer headache, though. Is Jace almost back with that doctor?”

“Yeah, they’re on their way down the hall.”  
  
“You gave us all quite a scare, Detective Churchill,” Rafael finally spoke, drawing her attention.

“Lo siento, consejero, but I’m going to have to ask you to either step forward or move to my right side. I’m almost deaf in my left ear.” Rafael nodded and pulled up a seat on Chaplain’s right side. Nick, having been reminded took a place standing behind him instead of sitting where he couldn’t be seen on the left, “I assume I’m off of the Ringer case, and Aaliyah’s case?” Chaplain wasn’t stupid, there was no way that she was going to be allowed to work either case after being attacked.

_On her second day._

She was wondering how long it would take to get over that fact when Rafael spoke, “Unfortunately, we can still call you as a witness on the Ringer case when it goes to trial. You are off of Aaliyah Reynold’s case, but we are still using what you collected. Liv has asked me to inform you that the doctor believes that your stomach wounds, the ones that are the worst of the two, is going to be the one that puts you out of commision.” Chaplain nodded and then Jace returned with the Doctor, who smiled brightly at her and handed her a hearing aid that the hospital gave out to cases like Chaplain, when patient’s own aides were either malfunctioning or broken. Nick and Rafael shuffled back, letting the doctor help her into a sitting position.

All eyes in the room were on her as she adjusted the aid and switched it on, flinching when it squaled and then settled down, “Thank you, doctor,” The man nodded and looked back at his clipboard, clicking his tongue.

“Well Detective,” He smiled down at her, “You’re free to leave when you can get someone here to drive you home. Before you leave I’ll brief you on how to change your bandages and I just need to exam you for a concussion, but it seems as if you’re functioning correctly.” Chaplain nodded and swallowed dryly. “Though, we are going to have to assure that someone else will be able to change your bandages while you’re off, just in case you’re too queasy.”

“My niece can do that,” Chaplain nodded at Jace, “And I’m not queasy, doctor. I’ve sewn myself up with a sewing needle and fishing line.” The doctor looked at her, eyebrows raised, but shook his head.

“I assume you were on duty,” He said, “And if you weren’t, you were too young to need to do that. We’re not going to speak about that.” Chaplain nodded and tried to swallow her words. They wanted to come up, to spill her guts, but she knew it was the morphine dripping into her though the IV in her arm. The room began to spin again, but only for a moment and she let the doctor examine her, shining a light in her eyes, snapping a finger next to her ears.

“Everything looks good, Detective,” The doctor nodded. He took one look at the room, the detective in the corner with the ADA next to him, the teenager that wouldn’t get more than a foot away from his patient and Chaplain knew he thought it was a strange situation, “You’re free to check out at any time, but I do advise you to take it easy. I know how the NYPD works their people, and how their people don’t want to ever stop working.” Chaplain nodded once more and found herself wanting to sleep.

She was tired, so tired, and the aches of the bruises were getting stronger. She resented the way Nick was looking at her, like she was so breakable, and like he needed to protect her. At least Rafael had his arms crossed and looked slightly indifferent, like he knew Chaplain could take care of herself.

“Estoy muy cansado,” Chaplain mumbled, reaching her arms out for Jace. The younger fell into her arms, running a hand through her aunt’s hair.

“Ha sido un día largo. Ve a dormir. Te despertaré cuando llegue la hora,” Chaplain nodded and let herself drift, but stayed right on the edge so she was still half there, half resting. She could still hear, but it was garbled, the conversation drifting from case to case, from Chaplain’s injuries to what could possible push Melody Ringer to assault an NYPD officer outside of her place of work. Chaplain, herself, wasn’t sure why Melody Ringer had targeted her. She thought it had to be because Preston had singled her out, as she was the only one that could play into his language game.

Maybe he remembered that she was the one to disarm him, to end his game at the warehouse. Either way, Chaplain was sure that she would scar and she was almost ninety percent sure that they had to shave half of her eyebrow from the cut across it, but she had gauze over her left eye so it was impossible to tell.

She was nearly fully asleep when she spoke again, the sound rumbling from her chest instead of her throat, making it deeper and more grating, “¿Esta gasa en mi cara, puede quitárselo pronto? ¿Sí?” Jace cooed, trying to shush her sister that was incoherently mumbling in broken Spanish, trying to communicate.

“Sí, sí,” Jace mumbled, and then Chaplain fell over the edge into sleep.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Nothing bothered Chaplain more than being home sick; nothing except going back to work with an aching face, an aching stomach, and being told to turn around and go home. It had only been a week and a half and she was already almost healed; her doctor was more surprised than she was.

“We don’t need you,”

“With all due respect, Sergeant,” Chaplain argued, eyes alight with fire, “I am cleared for duty, my wounds are almost healed and I need to be back for at least a week before I’m mentally ready to testify,” Olivia sighed, rubbing her forehead. She nodded and bit her lip and Chaplain wondered if she was going to get fired before she could get put back into the line of duty.

“I can’t risk you getting hurt even more, Churchill!” Olivia argued, slicing through the air with her hand, “You were attacked on your second day, and now you want to come back early? Have you even been going to the counselor that I suggested?”

Chaplin threw her hands in the air, stomach pulling slightly, “Of course I did! I’m not going to disobey _una orden directa!_ Especially not from my Sergeant!”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Churchill,” Olivia lowered her voice, and sighed, “Do you really feel like you’re ready to return? We’re still working Aaliyah’s case and Nick may have a lead. He’s going to go insane if he spends one more minute with Carisi; all the kid is talking about anymore is Barba and passing the bar.” Chaplain felt triumphant, like she had won a battle, but she knew that she was going to be the person walking out of the office with half of an eyebrow and pain relieving salve for her wounds. The doctor was right, the marks on her face were going to leave light scars, nowhere near as cherry pink as the scar on Preston’s jaw, but a faded peach color. The scars on her stomach, however?

They were going to be angry red for years to come.

“Thank you, Sergeant Benson. I’ll go find Amaro now.” Olivia sat down at her desk, probably to fill out the paperwork that was needed to bring Chaplain back so fast. She entered the squad room to find Sonny grinning at her from her desk, a box of some sort in his hand.

“Glad to have you back, Churchill,” He smiled at her and suddenly Chaplain found herself very self conscious about the fact that she was missing half of her left eyebrow. “Do you want a cornetto?”

“I’ll have to pass, Carisi,” She walked around her desk as Sonny changed where he was sitting to the chair next to her desk. She pulled her shield from her desk, looping it around her neck and then she holstered her gun, “How’s it been since I’ve been gone?”

“I’ve been visitin’ you everyday, Churchill, it’s like you didn’t even leave.” The two grinned at each other and Chaplain relaxed into her chair.

“You’re not the only one. Nick would bring me dinner, even though Jace and I had it covered. Amanda would drop off breakfast before Jace would go to school and Fin even picked Jace up and dropped her off a couple of times. You’ve all come through for me, Carisi. I’ve never felt more at home.”  
  
“It wasn’t like this at Lansing?” Carisi asked, setting the box of Italian pastries on the table, “Manhattan was the only SVU I transferred to that was hostile when I came.” Chaplain jumped when two hands came down on her shoulders, the distinct scent of Nick wafting over her.

“What our dear Carisi here fails to mention is the pornstache he was wearing and how he waved Fordham law in our faces for a week straight,” The men smiled at each other and it felt good to laugh again. Chaplain’s spine had been pulled tight with stress over the time she had been away, as the alley-way rapist had struck twice more with no leads, and the laughter eased the tension she had built up.

“Carisi, with a pornstache? Please tell me you have pictures!” Sonny flushed red but rolled his eyes, “I’m just poking shit at you, Carisi. You’d probably pull off facial hair well.” Their heads turned as someone asked for a detective and Carisi stood.

“You and Nick have a lead, go follow it. Rollins and I are working the office today while Fin is working a small undercover gig.” Chaplain stood, but Nick’s hands stayed on her shoulders in a comforting, warm manner.

“So what’s your lead?” Chaplain asked, spinning under his hold, “With as many times as you all came to visit me no one kept me in the loop. Es atroz!” Nick motioned her toward the elevator.

“Get your jacket, it’s cold outside.” He waited with door held open so Chaplain could grab the faded jean jacket she had laid over the back of her chair before letting her through the doors first, “You know, I have never seen you not in a long sleeve. You were wearing a gray long sleeve the first time I saw you, a black one when you were attacked. And now you’re wearing a navy striped long sleeve.” Chaplain shrugged and pulled the jean jacket on, ruffling her hair before trying to pull some of the curls over her left eye.

“Again, what’s the lead?”  
  
“Our sketch artist used your sketch with her own and made another, more accurate sketch and we got a hit about a sighting at a gas station just before you went in to talk with Liv,” Nick explained, looking over at Chaplain with his hands in his pockets, “And we’re on our way to look at the security cam footage. The clerk thinks he has the man’s address, so we might go by and ask around casually.”  
  
“¿Como vendedores de revistas?” Chaplain teased, “Or as actual cops?” Nick laughed and was the first out of the door when the elevator came to a stop.

“Cops, I think. Do you think a rapist wants magazines sold to him?” They had to stop for the officers to congratulate Chaplain on being back, shake her hand, slap her back. By the time they made it outside their only train of thought was the car, the gas station, work. All thoughts of having conversation with each other was pushed back when they began spitballing ideas, throwing around theories about who the man could be.

“Well, we know he’s not impotent. There’s evidence of penile penetration and nothing else found at the scene that could lead us to believe that another object was used. A condom was used, no lubricant, nothing that can actually lead us to the rapist. All we can do is either catch him in the act or get our victims to ID him.” Chaplain shook her head, “It makes me sick,” Nick pulled into traffic.

“What does?”

She barely glanced up from the case open in her lap, lids heavy from the motion of the car as Nick made his way through traffic, “The idea that another woman might have to be attacked for us to put this _hijo de puta_ behind bars,” Chaplain gritted her teeth together, feeling the urge to rip the paper to shreds, “How sickening is it that we either have to find a lead we can hold onto or let another life get ruined?!” Nick put a hand on her thigh to try and calm her down.

“Chaplain,” Nick said in his best _‘I am not a cop right now’_ voice, “Calm down. We’re going to visit a possible suspect and I can’t have you this upset.”

“Yeah, but how are you not upset?” Chaplain questioned, her thigh burning at the place where his hand was resting, “Nick, do you remember what you said to me in the bathroom on my second day? You told me that seeing the victims would make me want to keep helping them. And you were right. I nearly went insane at home watching the new report more victims.”

“Don’t make this job your life, Chaplain. I made this job my life and look at where I am.” Nick was back to being a friend instead of a cop, like he had been when she was confessing about her sister and the gunshot wound that ended her life, “I go home to an empty apartment every night and pretend like it doesn’t make me want to stay in the overnight room for the week.” Chaplain hadn’t thought about how Nick felt when he went home, only how she felt when she went home to see her sister’s child looking up to her when she wasn’t the best role-model.

To hear that Nick felt that pain made her stomach flip, “Come over for dinner,” It was a brazen order that wasn’t really an order and she half expected for Nick to shake his head. Instead he pressed the brake a little too hard at the red light, Chaplain’s hands shooting out to catch herself before she face planted into the dashboard. “Jace is a rather good cook,” She managed to tack on.

“You’re inviting me over for dinner finally?” He looked over, “After I brought it over to you?” She wasn’t sure if the tone Nick was using was a friendly sarcasm or a hostile sarcasm. “Relax, Churchill. I’m just poking shit at you.”

She let herself relax when Nick fell back into his easy going cop mode, “Don’t scare a woman like that, Amaro. You’ll give me a heart attack before I hit forty.” He smirked, “But yeah, I’m finally inviting you over.”

“I’ll be there. Seven sound okay?” Chaplain smiled and nodded, content in what she considered to be a win. As far as she was concerned Nick wasn’t the type of person to go over to his coworkers for dinner, but then again she didn’t know. Sonny seemed more like the type to agree to something like that and then tease that Chaplain was being sweet on him.

“Seven sounds great, I’ll text Jace and let her know to get something ready after school.”


	8. 8.

Texting the teenager had been a bad idea. Jace had replied with a flurry of messages, ranging from surprised to angry, to confused and assuming. 

Chaplain could barely keep up with them, let alone reply, before she had to turn off her phone and follow their lead.

(Which was a total bust; the man had a rock solid alibi considering he was in Riker’s at the time of the first rapes and at a meeting with his probation officer after after that. He just looked alarmingly like their suspect. It left Nick sagging and snappy for the rest of the day.)

So when Chaplain finally got around to messaging her niece back it was nearly five and she was wiped, having already followed four different leads on the alleyway rapist, none of which were live leads. Instead of taking the time to text Jace, Chaplain decided to call her instead.

“Hey, I’m glad that you’ve finally decided to answer me.” Jace’s voice was laden with sarcasm, an eyeroll probably to go with it. “What am I cooking tonight? _Why_ am I cooking tonight? Is this a date?”

Chaplain scoffed and tossed her head back, kicking her feet up on her desk. It was a habit, one that she had gained in her days in Staten Island. “No.” Her voice was firm, but she couldn’t actually answer that, “And, I don’t know. One of abuelita’s recipes?”

“Mi abuelita o el suyo?”

“Mía,” It was an easy answer and Jace knew where she kept her grandmother’s recipes, the faded yellow of the writings the only thing Chaplain had left of the woman who freed her from the man who made her life hell.

“Okay, but which one? There’s like, six hundred of them. I don’t have anything against her or anything, but she had too much time on her hands.”

Chaplain laughed, really laughed, for the first time since she got attacked, “I’m not denying that. No hay duda de que estaba loca; ¿pero en el fondo? Ella era un genio.” Jace hummed on the other end and Chaplain could faintly hear her flipping through the papers, looking for something fit for a not-date between Nick and her Aunt.

“I forgot to ask, should I make myself scarce?”

Chaplain had only been half paying attention, eyeing a man who looked very familiar but not at the same time, “Scarce? ¿Por qué?”

“So you can have dinner with Nick.”  
  
“I invited _Detective Amaro_ ,” She made sure to emphasize is so her niece wouldn’t get any ideas, “Over for dinner with mi familia. Unless I am mistaken, you are a part of that?” Jace snorted and Chaplain stood, her eyes still locked on the man she recognized, “I have to go, okay? I’ll be home by seven with Nick.”

She didn’t wait for the reply, ending the call and tossing her phone on her desk as she stepped around it, heading straight for the laughing group, all gathered around him. He seemed to be loud, louder than Sonny if that were possible, and impeccably dressed.  His suit was finely tailored and his chocolate brown hair was slicked back in a way that was… Neat. That’s how Chaplain would have described this man: neat.

What a boring description.

“Churchill,” Nick was beaming at her, bringing her forward to meet the man, “Come meet our new legal consult, recommended by Barba himself.” Chaplain shook the man’s hand, brows still furrowed and he returned the look.

“Detective Chaplain Churchill,” She finally had the gall to introduce herself. The man nodded slowly as the team watched, just as confused as the two who were still shaking hands

“Matthew Anderson, but you can call me Matt.” Finally they let go of each other’s hands and Chaplain took the time to figure out why he looked so damn familiar. He was nothing special, brown hair, brown eyes, like her but there was something in the way his cheekbones arched or the freckles she saw dotted on his neck.

Where had she seen him before? “Not to be rude,” She said slowly, “But do I know you?” Matt shook his head.

“I’m not sure, though you do look familiar. My father moved me here with him from Detroit, and ADA Barba assigned me to help your unit.” Chaplain nodded and took a step back, past Nick and Amanda.

“Maybe we ran into each other in the city; I moved from Lansing.” Matt’s face broke into a grin and he turned to greet Olivia.

“Couldn’t have been any weirder with the new guy?” Fin clapped Chaplain on the shoulder as he came up behind her, “Wait until Barba gets a load of how you treated him.” She looked back and up at the smirking man.

“I’ve met him before,” She said, slowly, disregarding Fin’s comment, “But I haven’t? He seems familiar.” Fin sighed and shook his head.

“Like you said, you probably ran into him in the city.” She nodded and tried to place where, exactly, she had seen Matt before. There was no way she had seen him in the city; that was just a bullshit excuse to get the team from giving them weird looks, as if they had met somewhere before that, had an affair.

“Yeah,” Chaplain nodded slowly, finally answering Fin, “Probably in the city.”

* * *

“It’s nearly six thirty,” Nick whispered, squatting down next to Chaplain’s desk under the pretense of paperwork, “Shouldn’t we get going?”

She looked up and checked her phone, nearly cursing under her breath, “Do you want me to drive or do you want to catch a cab? Either is fine with me.” Nick stood and helped her up, hand lingering on hers for a moment too soon.

“I’ll ride with you,” And his answer caused Chaplain to smirk and nod before leading him to clock out.

“Whatever you say, Amaro.” He didn’t seem to understand what she meant and followed her out to the parking lot, chatting away about something she didn’t actually care about. The only thing she cared about was the look on Nick’s face when he remembered that she rode a motorcycle to work and to home. “Hey, you’re over eighteen, right?” It was a joke, and Nick didn’t get it until Chaplain held up her keys and jangled them and the look of realization washed over her face.

“Oh, wait, no, you ride a motor- I’ll call, I’m gonna call a cab.” Nick looked flustered, like he wasn’t expecting to be in such close quarters with Chaplain.

“Oh, no,  Amaro. You have to ride with me now. You’ve already agreed.” Her sick grin was exacerbated by Nick’s blush, barely visible. She swung her leg over her Harley and looked at him, expecting him to try and back out, to try and call a cab. But he never did.

Nick took a deep breath and swung his leg over the back of the motorcycle, the vehicle swaying under his weight as Chaplain fought against the bike’s urge to tumble over. He placed his hands hesitantly on her waist as she fired up the motorcycle, the rumble of the engine bringing satisfaction to her chest. Nick put his feet up on the passanger pegs and leaned forward shakily, arms sliding around her waist in a robotic manner.

Before Chaplain peeled out of the parking lot, she turned her head to speak to Nick, “Don’t be so stiff, Detective. You’ll throw off my game.” He laughed, chest pressed to her back and she fought back a shiver at the feeling. Finally she let the motorcycle rev, the sound echoing, before the engine pushed the bike out of the parking lot, easily sliding on to the street. Nick constricted his arms around Chaplain tighter, face buried in her shoulder and she wondered if he had ever been on a motorcycle before; she had grown up on them, with them around her, and they were the only good things in her early teenage life. Nick, however, didn’t seem as relaxed as she did. Chaplain had thought someone like Nick, a tough, macho detective, would have been on one in his lifetime.

When she kicked the kickstand down at her apartment complex and let Nick off he was shaky on his legs, face paled. Chaplain had to laugh, hopping off of the motorcycle and patting him on the shoulder.

“Are you okay, Nick? First time on a bike?”  
  
“Yeah,” He nodded, following Chaplain to her apartment, “It doesn’t help that you drive like-”  
  
“¿Un maníaco?” Nick giggled, he giggled, and shoved Chaplain by the shoulder, her body easily tumbling into the wall as her laugh echoed around the hallway. Jace, who had been hiding out behind the door to greet Nick when he arrived with a hug and Chaplain with a heavy side-eye, threw open the door and stuck her head out, blonde hair tumbling over her shoulder.

“Dinner’s almost ready, you two, so if you could make it down the hallway in a timely manner, that would be grand.” She was smirking, looking at Chaplain like she didn’t believe it wasn’t a date. Almost immediately, Chaplain sassed Jace back.

“If you could stop being such a smartass in front of our guest, that would be grand.” She looked over at Nick and let him through the door to her apartment. Even though he had been there multiple times, if only to drop of some takeout or something Sonny made him, he looked totally at home. Chaplain had to admire that, the way Nick took a place unfamiliar with him and let himself feel at ease, relax, until the person from work was no longer there and it wa just Nick Amaro, a friend.

Chaplain really hadn’t had friends before Manhattan, and she was glad she had finally made some.

“I can’t get over how neat your apartment is,” Nick whispered to her, standing at the bookshelf, “I thought it would look like a frat house; things thrown all over.” Chaplain side-eyed him and smirked.

“Why would you think that? Because I’m never home and I’ve got a teenager?” Nick nodded, “No, Jace does a good job of keeping this place up. I don’t cause too much of a mess, so she really just cleans up after herself.”  
  
“Don’t you miss her when you have to work late?” Nick asked. Chaplain almost felt offended because Nick was saying that she was gone too much, away far too long, but after a moment of bristling her own feathers, Chaplain cooled off rather quickly.  
  
“Do you miss Zara and Gil?” She asked, turning to lean against the bookcase and look at Nick, “She’s my little girl, even if she’s only my niece. Mi _vida_. I promised Tanya I would love her like my own,” She turned her gaze fondly to the teenager bustling in the kitchen, humming under her breath, “It’s the same, I think, as when a parent misses their child. I couldn’t imagine life without her. I know I spend a lot of time at work, but I’m only helping her. Making the streets safer, teaching her.” Nick seemed breathless, but he nodded.  
  
“You raised her from a baby. For all things considered, she is your child. I didn’t mean to offend you; I miss Gil and Zara more than anything. I wish I could feel the same way you do, but I can’t; not when they’re in LA and I’m here.” Suddenly Nick looked older, more worn out and tired, and Chaplain wanted to hug him, to make him feel better.

Instead, she just spoke, “Do you feel guilty?” Chaplain’s voice was soft and she cursed herself for it; it wasn’t supposed to be soft and tender. She was supposed to be firm and strong, but that was so hard when she watched the world beat down on Nick all day at work. He nodded and she sighed, reaching out to loop her fingers around his wrist in a comforting manner, “Don’t do that, okay? Don’t do that to yourself. You still see them when they visit, you still Skype. You’re not gone from their lives. Alright? You can’t be so hard on yourself, Nick. If you’re too hard you’ll end up crashing and burning.”  
  
“What do you know about crashing and burning?” He leaned in, if not subconsciously, and his voice dropped to a whisper, “You’ve got your whole life put together, everything in place.” Chaplain shook her head and nearly grinned at Nick.

“I picked up my life, my kid’s life, and moved back to the place that was a living hell for me. Just because I wasn’t getting along with Lansing SVU and I wasn’t going anywhere. Does that sound like I have my life put together?” She shuffled closer to Nick, wishing that the bags under his eyes were from working on a case and not losing sleep over his children, “We all make decisions, Nick. I made mine and here I am. All I’m really doing is pretending that I have it together. And you’re falling for it.” He was speechless and for a moment Chaplain wondered if she overshared, if she was being too abrasive, telling Nick things she shouldn’t.

“It sounds horrible, but that makes me feel better.” Nick admitted, “It shouldn’t, but it does.” Chaplain merely patted him on the shoulder and made her way to help Jace set the table, like her mother had taught her. The proper way to fold the napkins, where to put the utensils, the right way to set the plates. She hadn’t realized Nick had come to help her until he placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned down to ask what she wanted to drink.

“Hay un poco de agua en la nevera,” She replied easily, for once glad that she didn’t have to stop to think, to translate, something before she spoke. She rarely had to actually think about it, but when she was focusing it was harder for her to turn on a dime and stop thinking in Spanish and start speaking in English.

Nick nodded once and the spot where his hand lay went cold when he stepped away to get a glass, as directed by Jace, and poured her a glass. He grabbed a beer, some cheap off brand that Chaplain had gotten the taste for from one of her father’s buddies in Lansing, and Jace usually didn’t drink anything with her dinner but Chaplain watched as Jace tried to stop Nick before he poured her a glass of water for her, and she grinned at him and took it gratefully.

“You don’t mind, do you? Water isn’t my thing.” Nick gestured to the alcohol and Chaplain shrugged.

“I have it in my fridge for a reason, Nick. Now sit down so we can eat; Jace is the best cook in the house.” As they took their seats, Nick and Chaplain on one side of the table with Jace on the other, Jace took her chance to jab at her aunt.

“I’m the only cook in the house,” She pointed out, “And this is weird. I feel like I’m getting in trouble,” Jace looked between Nick and Chaplain, eyeing how close they were sitting. The two adults would argue, of course, that they hadn’t noticed that they were sitting so close but that was a lie.

“Oh, you are,” Chaplain said cooly, masking the laughter in her face, “See, I ran your prints through the FBI database and it turns out we all know about your drug smuggling scheme.” Jace raised her eyebrows.

“Oh yeah? Then you’ll know that it’s not a scheme and I happen to be the big boss. One day you’ll be arresting me,” The banter was light, easy, and Nick watched with amusement.

“I look forward to it. Eighteen hours in an interrogation room until you confess,” Chaplain paused to take a rather large bite of the pasta in front of her, “Just you, Nick and I until you spill your guts.” Jace grinned.

“Naw, Nick would let me off. Right?” Nick looked startled, nearly choking on the pasta and the sauce, “Because I am the niece of his favorite coworker.”  
  
“Woah, woah, woah,” Nick held his hand up in a joking manner, “I wouldn’t go that far. I might like Carisi more than I like Chaplain.” Said girl put a hand to her chest and mocked offense.  
  
“Just when I thought we were getting along, Nick. Maybe my favorite will be Fin.” Jace snorted and Chaplain looked over, “What? Fin and I get along just fine, thank you very much.” Nick knocked his elbow with hers.

“Yeah, but we all know that I’m your favorite, clearly. You work with me most.”

“Doesn’t your sergeant make her work with you? Does that really count?” Jace piped in, already half done with her meal, “If she doesn’t choose to work with you, you can’t count it.” Nick pouted, Chaplain made a note of what it looked like because she hadn’t seen a grown man pout before.

“I would like to think that she would choose to work with me,” Nick shoveled another forkful of food into his mouth, “Wouldn’t you?” Chaplain made a loose movement with her shoulders, pretending to deliberate for a few moments.

“Probably,” She finally admitted, “You’re easiest to work with, I guess. Sonny holds a better conversation, though. He runs faster, quicker to the draw. But you’re better at interrogating, so that balances it out.”

Was Nick looking for a long answer? Whether or not he was, he received one.

“See, I told you! Chaplain would pick me over Carisi any day.” The table laughed and Chaplain nudged Nick in the ribs with her hand.

“I never said that! I just said you were better than Sonny!”

* * *

Jace was never one to stay awake late at night, and for once Chaplain was glad the teenager liked her sleep and crashed out early. She wasn’t sure when Nick was going to go home, or if he even was, but honestly? She didn’t mind.

She was enjoying having Nick as a friend, drinking whiskey and watching some shitty rerun on the television. He was sitting a little too close, thigh pressed against Chaplain’s, as he reached across her to refill his glass.

(It was his fourth glass and Chaplain was working on her fifth; they were both nearly blackout drunk.)

Usually she didn’t have such a hard time holding her alcohol but it was late and she was tired, the scent of Nick next to her on the couch was making it even harder for her thoughts to mingle coherently. She wasn’t sure whether he was feeling the same thing, but she didn’t want to find out.

To find out would be to make a move, which would be to break her rule of “Don’t date anyone at work because it ends horribly.” Even though she had thought of breaking that rule every time Nick brought her dinner when she was on leave, or each time they disclosed something to one another that hadn’t been said in a while. She thought of breaking that rule when she shivered and Nick put his arm around her, pulling her shoulder flush with his body. She thought of breaking that rule when Nick’s face turned to hers and his nose pressed into her cheek while his breath rolled over her face.

Chaplain could have just told him to stop, back off, and Nick would have. But did she want him to? Did she want his face to retreat, to turn back to the glowing television? She hadn’t spent a lot of time with him, but she had spent enough to feel like there was something there that she couldn’t, or hadn’t wanted to, see. Did they have a chemistry together? She wasn’t sure but his touch felt electric, flashing through her veins and igniting everything in her brain that told her to make impulse decisions.

So she did.  
  
Instead of leaving her eyes on the screen, Chaplain turned her head until the side of her nose was pressed against Nick’s, their breath mingling in the space between their mouths. One move, one single move would put her mouth against his. All she had to do was push her jaw forward and their lips would brush.

_So she did._

Chaplain moved her head the slightest, Nick’s chapped lips meeting hers. He sighed through his nose and constricted his arm around his shoulder as he smiled into her lips. She couldn’t help but wonder if he just wanted a body to keep him warm in the wake of his divorce, but then she didn’t know if she cared.

She pushed forward, hand finding the back of Nick’s head and threading through the hair there. He sighed again and pushed back, Chaplain’s body turning sideways. Nick leaned her back against the arm of the couch and he braced himself with the arm that wasn’t around her shoulders. He stopped kissing her for a moment, but just a moment, to readjust himself and use his knee between her thighs to keep his body hovering over hers. He moved back down to capture her lips, her head bending back, neck stretching, as he was farther up on the couch then she.

“¿’Ta bien?” Nick pushed his forehead against Chaplain’s chest heaving and eyes closed, “Dime si no lo es.”

“Usted sabe que yo voy a decir, Nick.” She whispered, afraid to break the atmosphere cast over the room by the gray-blue light of the television, by the way Nick’s body quivered over her.

“Gracias,” He mumbled before dipping back down and pressing his body against Chaplain’s, lips back against hers, as he groaned. She wasn’t the best at kissing, mostly because she never had the practice or the people to kiss, but Nick seemed to enjoy it. He seemed to want more, his arm slipping out from under her shoulders and moving to find a road down her body to her hips.

Chaplain realized that her hands had stayed stagnant in Nick’s hair, but she wasn’t satisfied with that. Her palms pressed flat against either of his shoulder blades. Then she ran them slowly down to his love handles and Nick shivered, turning his head and opening his mouth. The action, as simple as it may have seemed, lit a fire under both of their asses.

With a jolt, Chaplain realized that she had rolled her hips upward into Nick’s. He pushed his back with the same amount of vigor before he let his tongue slide over her lips, begging her to open her own mouth as well. Of course, she obliged, realizing that she wasn’t the one in power but Nick was. This was something new to Chaplain, not being in power. In every other relationship that she had, she was the dominant one.

Her personality was strong, but Nick’s seemed stronger. He seemed like he wanted to control but that made Chaplain want to make him relinquish his power, to make Nick powerless, to make him shiver and shudder without knowing that he had the opportunity to take control back.

She was a woman of many thoughts, most of which, as Nick’s tongue was in her mouth, were sinful in the eyes of anyone who wasn’t making out with Nick Amaro.

He was thinking the same things, except maybe worse, and Chaplain was glad because he didn’t, not once, lose his energy as he rolled his hips, shaking and groaning under his breath. The sounds were probably hotter than the makeout session itself, egging Chaplain on as she made her own noises, but more like gasps and mewls. She was overcome with everything about the man above her; his scent, his lips, his hands, his noises.

Everything was Nick, and Chaplain couldn’t have been happier.

She was enjoying herself and Nick was enjoying himself; that was blatantly obvious. He gripped her hips tightly in both of his hands, his weight fully on her. But Chaplain really didn’t want to continue their escapade on her couch, lest Jace need a glass of water and see her Aunt in a compromising position. She pushed Nick back by the shoulders, watching as his face turned into panic, afraid that he had offended or disrespected her.

With her breathy command of, “Follow me,” the face was replaced by an eager one, a hungry one. Nick scrambled off of the couch, nearly knocking over the empty whiskey bottle and he pulled Chaplain up, hands squeezing her hips as they tried to step softly by Jace’s door, her snoring drifting through the wood as the two very drunk adults failed at being as silent as they wanted to be. She pushed through her door, Nick kicking it shut behind them as he grabbed her shoulder and whipped her around, lips finding Chaplain’s before she could gasp. He was dominant and she would be lying if she said she didn’t like it. She loved the way his strong hands grasped at her bottom, pulling her body closer to his.

She loved the way his back muscles rippled as her fingers made their way around it, feeling the flushed skin through the thin fabric of his white dress shirt. His own hands were warm against her bottom, and he rocked her forward and then pushed back with his own hips.

Chaplain was certain that she knew where their lips touching was taking them, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted it to stop or continue. In a way, she wanted it to continue, but what about the day after? Would they sleep together and then actually sleep, waking up and getting dressed before eating together and going in to work together?

Did she care?  
  
It would be Nick’s call, his decision. If he wanted to stay, he could, but Chaplain wasn’t going to ask him to stay or force him to leave. An easy way to find out what they were doing was going to mean.

Speaking of the Nick, he had lifted his head and looked for her bed, eyes zeroing in on it and moving toward it. He was taking Chaplain with him, of course, arms still around her waist as his lips found her neck. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting her head fall backward as Nick sucked a hickey on the side of her neck, drawing gasps from her throat.

He was doing so much of the work, and so diligently, without complaint. Should she let him have all of the fun? Half of Chaplain said yes, let Nick do what he wanted to do, but the other half said no, this might be her only chance to see him with all of his defenses down. She was confused and each part of her was arguing, so when Nick backed her up against the side of her bed she fell and took him with her, nearly screaming at the surprise of it all.

Nick chuckled and pushed himself up, sliding around Chaplain. He moved farther up her bed until his back was pressed against her headboard, legs spread in front of him. Nick didn’t say anything, he just held his arms out and cocked an eyebrow, ready for whatever decision she would make. Of course, he knew that she was going to crawl up the bed to him, and she did.

Usually she wasn’t as submissive as Nick made her feel, but it felt good to obey his silent commands. Even though he was in power she knew that she could say no at any moment and he would stop and there was something powerful about that, in a way.

Nick pulled Chaplain until she was straddling him, her lips finding his instead of his finding hers. She took his face in her hands and slowed the kiss down, making sure that he felt every brush of her lips, every movement of her body and it affected him in a way that he didn’t think it would have.

As Chaplain worked what Nick would call magic he was the one gasping, chasing her face with his for more of her, of her lips, of her scent, of her body against his. Nick wasn’t the only one who was chasing- she was as well. She was chasing the twisting feeling in her stomach that came from his hands on her lower back, the way they curled around to grasp at her hips, hands gliding up under her shirt to explore her stomach.

She was stunned when his finger found her bullet scar like he had it memorized and the other traced over the the three jagged scars. Nick sighed into her mouth and tilted his head, egging her on and basically asking her to come closer. Chaplain obliged, her hands sweeping up his chest and stopping at his neck, undoing the buttons on the long wrinkled dress shirt. Her hands moved quickly, like she had done it thousands of times before, and she had; not thousands, per say, but enough of the men she had slept with wore the dress shirts and she loved them in it, but loved them more out of it.

When she pushed the shirt off of Nick’s shoulders he sat forward to shimmy out of it and Chaplain pressed her lips to the ball of his shoulder, nipping and sucking a bruise into his skin. It would look amazing there, contrasting his tan skin. It was her mark, her creation and another way to get Nick back for the bruise he left on her neck.

“Chaplain,” He whispered, hips moving upward once more, “God,” It wasn’t coherent and she wondered if the button of his slacks was going to burst under the pressure it was being put under. She didn’t think on that for too long, though, because Nick’s hands traveled higher up on her stomach, taking her shirt with his hands. Chaplain was reserved at first, her eyes falling to her stomach where the rough, red scars lay. Nick’s followed and he pushed her back far enough to drag his fingers over the scars, pressing a kiss to the bullet scar below her bra.

Then he lifted her shirt fully off, eyes glazed over as they took in her heaving chest, the way her bra fit snugly against her breasts. They were even, but Chaplain was craving more. She wanted skin on skin contact, the feel Nick’s flesh burn against hers. She leaned down to kiss him, their chests and stomachs pushing together as they both moaned.


	9. 9.

> _In the criminal justice system, sexually based offenses are considered especially heinous._
> 
> _In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit._
> 
> _These are their stories._

_**this story is purely fictional, anything that is like a real life incident is purely coincidental. none of the victims, nor perpetrators, in this story are, to my knowledge, real.** _

In the morning, Chaplain half thought she would wake up in his arms.

She should have known better.

The bed was empty and cold, covers abandoned on the floor. Chaplain wasn’t naked, but wearing Nick’s dress shirt, her bra seated once more on her body and her underwear intact. She was sore, but that was to be expected.

Her alarm didn’t have the chance to ring out because she had already turned it off, stretching a she pounded on the wall she shared with Jace.

“Get up, Jay,” Her voice was hoarse, “Time for school.” When she heard the teen groan she shed Nick’s shirt, laying it out on her bed before heading into her en suite to shower. It was a quick shower, burning and only half remembered by the melancholy detective. Of course Nick had left, but did he have to leave his shirt on her body? How humiliating is that?

Besides the fact that he had waited until she fell asleep to sneak out of the house after the struggled together to stay silent, to not wake Jace.

Chaplain was halfway dressed, standing in her bra and black jeans in front of the mirror to dry her hair, when Jace screamed and her heart stopped. Her bathroom door slammed a hole in her bedroom wall as Chaplain grabbed the gun from her nightstand, cocked and turned the safety off as she sprinted to the kitchen. Everything was a blur as she stepped in front of Jace, gun held rigidly in front of her.

“You have three seconds to tell me your name before I blow your God damned head off,” Her teeth were gritted so hard she was surprised they didn’t break. The man, standing in only a white undershirt and boxers, threw his hands in the air and turned around slowly.

His eyes widened more than Chaplain’s when she finally recognized him and dropped the gun, “Holy _fuck_ , Nick, can you give me some warning before you make coffee in my kitchen?” It wasn’t what she wanted to say, but Jace’s hands clasping her shoulder were all she could focus on. Her niece sighed and poked her head around Chaplain, a grin playing on her face.

“Yeah, some warning for me would be nice, too.” Nick was pale, eyes still trained on the gun hanging at Chaplain’s side, but tracing her body until it landed on the one that was cupping her forehead.

“Jesus, _shit_ , man.” She said again, “I nearly broke my neck trying to get in here. I thought Jace was in trouble. Casi me tiro en usted.” Nick pointed at the gun.

“I can see that! I was trying to make some coffee and then Jace screamed. I wasn’t going to move until she realized who I was but then you were threatening to blow my brain out.” He watched as the gun was set down on the counter, safety on, and Chaplain turned on her heel, mumbling something about finishing getting ready. She assumed Nick would go home before work because, well, she can’t fit three people on a motorcycle and Jace wasn’t exactly legal to drive.

Instead he followed Chaplain into her room, shutting the door behind him. She knew in a moment that he was going to breach the subject of their copulation, of his shirt that was laid across her empty bed, of the way their bodies slotted together in the night.

Chaplain busied herself with pulling on the same gray longsleeve she wore the first day she met Nick, the same beanie that she wore but before she put it on she walked to the full body mirror in the corner and began to work on her hair.

Nick didn’t say anything, instead he followed Chaplain’s body and wrapped his arms around her waist cautiously. He was testing the waters and for a moment her hands stilled in her hair, fingers twisting her hair into a bun, but after the warmth of his skin soaked easily into hers, her fingers began moving again like nothing had ever happened.

Nick placed his chin on her shoulder, watching intently as Chaplain turned her wet, dripping mess of hair into a tight bun that would be covered by a beanie. She wasn’t sure if she picked an outfit nearly identical to the one on her first day at SVU because she wanted familiarity or because she wanted to start over.

“That’s amazing. Zara does that with her hair, but I can never figure out how she does it.” Chaplain lowered her hands and took a brief moment to observe the way Nick was holding her but then she moved to grab the beanie, covering the bun and leaving only her hairline and barely an inch of hair exposed. Nick pressed a kiss to her shoulder before moving to collect his shirt from the bed, redoing what Chaplain had undone the night prior.

Neither adult said anything and she was grateful for that. She didn’t want to have the awkward what are we conversation, but she didn’t want to give the impression that she wasn’t seeking anything more. So when Nick took his place in front of her bathroom mirror with the hair gel that Chaplain had in the cabinet she mimicked what he did to her.

Nick, too, barely paused in his movements when Chaplain linker her arms around his waist, lips pressed to his shoulder blade, through his dress shirt. She sighed and took a moment to soak in the way his chest felt when it wasn’t rippling, wasn’t expanding and contracting with movement. Half of her wanted Nick to turn around and kiss her and the other wanted him to march out the door and pretend like they never had sex in the first place. It was, once again, up to Nick to choose.

“Your hair product smells better than mine,” His back rumbled with the speech, “Where do you get this?” He observed it and felt Chaplain shrug against his back.

“It belongs to my Papá. I brought it with me when I moved in case he needed it when he came to visit. I can have him bring some, but it’s made by a Mom and Pop shop just outside of Lansing.” She stepped back and allowed Nick to stretch to put it away. She thought about leaving the bathroom but Nick turned around too fast for that, grasping her chin in his hands softly and kissing her once more.

As sappy as it was, she melted into his lips as they moved against hers. It was not a whiskey-prodded kiss, but a smooth kiss that came from genuine attraction instead of alcohol. He didn’t let the kiss go on for long before he pulled back and smiled at Chaplain, running a finger across her cheekbone before the shrill cry of a cell phone broke the atmosphere.

“It’s Nick’s!” Jace called, entering Chaplain’s room, “It says it’s Liv so if you guys want to stop _sucking face_ and have him answer it, she’d be thankful.” Nick groaned and left the bathroom first, trying to block the view of a blushing Chaplain from Jace, but it didn’t work. He flipped open the phone and barked out his last name while Jace leaned her body around until she could make eye contact with Chaplain, grinning like the Cheshire cat and making suggestive eyebrow movements.

Chaplain chopped the air with her hand, mouthing angrily in Spanish until Nick turned while he was speaking; then she pretended like she was observing and listening into the conversation he was having with their boss but in reality she had no clue what he was saying. He ended the call before shrugging at Chaplain.

“This isn’t what I wanted to say, but Liv says that the alley-way rapist has struck again. We gotta go. I said I’d swing by your apartment to pick you up, which gives us time to get some breakfast before we meet her at the crime scene. There’s a body this time.”

* * *

Her stomach turned as she saw the victim, nearly a carbon copy of Chaplain herself. All brown hair and eyes, freckles and lanky arms and legs. She looked like she had been screaming, jaw agape as if she recognized her killer, her rapist, like she knew who he was.

Nick sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, “God, this doesn’t ever get easier.”  
  
“No it does not,” Olivia spoke, coming up behind Chaplain and Nick. She led them closer to the body, standing over it as the photographer made sure to capture every angle of her limbs, every drip of blood on the alley ground. “This is Calliandra Gomez, she’s a twenty nine year old college student here on a trip with her classmates. Her family has been notified and they will be in for interviewing in a few hours.” The name caught Chaplain off guard and she furrowed her brows, mouth twisting into a frown as she stepped toward the body.

Crouching down to observe the woman’s mutilated face she felt her stomach twist even more. She jumped up, back bouncing off of Nick’s front as she gasped loudly, trying to draw breath when none came. The girl, Calliandra, Chaplain knew her. Chaplain lived next to her.

Chaplain tried to make the words fall from her throat but she couldn’t do anything but gasp and convulse as she tried to back pedal away from the body of the woman she lived next to, worked with. Olivia was in front of her, hands on her shoulders, as Nick held her sagging body up.

“Churchill,” Olivia’s, “What’s wrong? What did you see?”  
  
“I know her!” The confession ripped from her in a scream, “Oh, God, Callie, oh no. Oh, God. She was- my, _she was my neighbor!_ I worked with her at the gas station; she’s dead, oh God.” It was her first experience seeing someone she loved dead because when her sister was shot, she was tied up and unconscious. That evidence was damning when the police went to make an arrest. “She must have, look at her, she must have known her killer. Recognized him. That’s why he killed her because he recognized her, too. That means I know him, because I knew everyone she knew in Lansing- she wanted to be a detective, like I am, and she wanted to help people and _fuck_ , she was so young.” It all tore out of her in a stuttering mess, but her boss and her partner caught all of it.

Olivia spoke, “You have to recuse yourself from this case,”

“No!” Chaplain finally found the strength to stand again, pushing off of Nick and past her boss to look at the body once more. Before she spoke again she turned to look at two very concerned detectives, “I will know who killed her and who raped those other girls. I need to go talk to them again, see if there’s anything that they didn’t tell us so I can try and piece it together.” It was more of a demand than a request, but Chaplain knew that Olivia would oblige. They needed any help they could get on the case that had been running for far too long, had claimed too many victims.

But her boss looked stressed, “Look, we need to interview you to get more information on the victim-”

“You can do that when her parents get in,” Chaplain cut her off sharply, knowing that she shouldn’t disrespect her boss like that, “They’ll want to see a friendly face, anyway.”

* * *

Olivia had sent Amanda with Chaplain, purely because the latter was shaking so hard she couldn’t walk a straight line and Nick was seeming way too invested in the way she was acting.

“If you’re feeling too overwhelmed we can go back to the station,” Amanda said softly, laying a hand on the Chaplain’s forearm, tense as she gripped the steering wheel. She had elected to drive, knowing that she shouldn’t but Amanda didn’t seem to care, “We can bring in a uniform to interview the girls.”

“Not just the girls. Not all of them. Just one. One of the first victims, Aaliyah Reynolds. She may be holding back, something about the MO, something she didn’t tell us.” Chaplain sounded so sure of herself, her voice strong and it took Amanda back. The more seasoned detective hadn’t seen her newer coworker so sure of herself.

“Okay. Do you want to do the talking?”  
  
“Yes.” Amanda was silent for the rest of the drive to where Aaliyah said she would meet the detectives, a small cafe just outside of the city. Chaplain knew the place well because she had stopped there as she moved Jace to New York, slowly but surely taking their stuff away from Lansing and moving it into their apartment.

That’s why Chaplain had suggested it. She knew that there was a back room that, if she flashed her badge, would be off limits to anyone. The barista had a small school girl crush on the detective and Chaplain almost felt bad taking advantage of it.

But Calliandra’s face flashed in her vision again and the anger burned in her veins, hurt and pain wrapped in it. She pulled into the parking lot, turning the car off and exiting it in record time. Amanda was right behind her and Chaplain met Aaliyah at the door, instructing her to follow.

“Oh, Detective Churchill!” The bright eyed barista chirped as they entered, all blonde hair and melodic voice, “I assume you’ll be needing the back room.” As a formality Chaplain flashed her badge and nodded.

“That would be preferable, Minnie. Thank you.” Minnie led the group to the back room, a bounce in her step as the detective in the lead gave a grin meant to convey the fact that they needed the room to be one hundred percent private.

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Minnie finally responded, holding the door for the three females, “Just yell for me if you need me.” Amanda thanked the barista before she shut the door behind Aaliyah, who flinched.

“Please, sit, I only have a few questions.” Chaplain felt like she was in a room that was spinning too fast, but she knew that when she had sat down across from Aaliyah she had to be clear and concise, tread lightly as to not spook her.

“What are the questions about? How you can’t catch the man who raped me?” She had the right to be angry and Chaplain watched as Amanda rolled her shoulders. “Or is it about all the other girl’s he’s raped? Or maybe the one that he’s killed?” Chaplain held up a hand and then laid it on the table in front of her. She needed Aaliyah calm, able to remember what had happened when she was attacked. Aaliyah seemed to sense that because she inhaled deeply through her nose and set her hand down on the table, too.

“The questions are about your attack,” Chaplain spoke slowly, “The woman he killed last night was a friend of mine from Lansing, Michigan. Have you ever been to Lansing or any of the surrounding areas?”

Aaliyah shook her head, “My mother was born in Detroit, but I’ve never been, no.” Amanda nodded.

“Did your attacker ever say anything to you? While he was attacking you?”

Again, Aaliyah shook her head. “I’ve told the police everything, I’ve told you guys everything.”

“I know, Aaliyah. But we need anything, anything, that you didn’t tell us. Something too embarrassing to talk about, something that would make you feel like you were a laughing stock.” Chaplain was sure, so sure, that she was holding back and when Aaliyah bit her lip and shook her head to keep the tears at bay, she knew she was right. “Please, Aaliyah. We need to find this man. I think I know him and anything you can give me can help me catch this man.” The victim shook her head, trying desperately to keep the memories at bay.

“I can’t- I can’t say.” Chaplain took Aaliyah’s hand and squeezed it, pushing her head forward in a comforting manner, “I don’t want to say.”  
  
“We’re not here to judge you, Miss Reynolds,” Amanda piped in, Georgia accent thick with kindness, “We’re here to help.” Chaplain nodded and gave Aaliyah’s hand a gentle squeeze to show she agreed.

“He did say s-something, but it’s. It’s vulgar and disgusting. He said: _you need to do it good for Daddy, be a good girl. Don’t want your sister to hear and wake up, do you? I’d have to kill her_.”

For the second time that day Chaplain’s heart stopped, her lungs deflated and then didn’t reflate and then the world twisted around her. The look on her face must have been telling because Aaliyah retracted her hand to wring it with the other before she asked Amanda if she had said anything wrong. The detective shook her head while Chaplain stood, grasping at the side of her face. She stumbled backward and tried very hard not to vomit.

“Aaliyah, you’re going to- you’re going to come with us. Back to the precinct. We’re going to arrest a suspect and you need to ident-identify him. Okay? Amanda, I need to, I need to call something in.” She was barely able to gasp out the words and Aaliyah burst into tears while Amanda tried to comfort her and watched as Chaplain pulled out her cell phone, ringing Fin. “Hey, Fin, I need you to go pick up Jace. Quickly. Lights, sirens, the whole shebang. We have a suspect for the alley rapes and she is in imminent danger. Meet Rollins and I back at the station after you’ve got her- I’ll call Olivia next.”

She ended the call and started to the door, hoping Amanda would get the message and mover her ass. She was constantly looking over her shoulder, ready to see the man she had feared, the ghost she had ran from for years.

The car was already started before Aaliyah was in the backseat, Amanda in the front, and neither woman got to question was what happening because Chaplain flipped on the sirens and immediately called Olivia to go over what was happening. She was lucky her boss spoke Spanish because she couldn’t think clear enough to speak English. She was speeding, driving very recklessly but people were getting the hell out of her way and that is all she needed.

There was no way that Olivia was going to let her get away with not recusing herself. Not with who the rapist, the murderer was.

And she was getting along with the team so well.

_That was all going to go down the drain._

* * *

The team was gathered, minus Fin, and Chaplain paced in front of them, hands shaky in her hair that escaped the bun after she had hung up with Olivia. They were all firing questions at her but nobody was trying to stand or comfort her.

They knew it was no use until Fin arrived with Jace. Until the distraught woman say her niece in one piece, saw her alive.

“¡Tía! ¿Que está pasando?” Jace was out of breath, Fin right behind her, and Chaplain took the shaking teen in her own quivering arms before shaking her head. She kissed Jace’s forehead before turning back to the team.

“I know who the alleyway rapist is. I know his profile, I know how he thinks. I know he’s raped seven more girls in Lansing, Michigan and that he has killed nearly fifteen people, including all seven of his rape victims. He’s just moved, moved here and raped six more girls, killing another one. I knew her. He knew her. She knew him.” The whole room was silent and then Jace yanked herself out of Chaplain’s arms.

“¡No!” She shouted, “¡Deja de hablar!” The tears shone in her eyes and she bit her lip.

Chaplain just pulled her back into her arms as Olivia stood.

“Who is it?”

“I’ve been running from this man my entire life,” She was barely whispering, “I’ve been hiding from him, ducking away from anything to do with him. I suppose I cannot run from him anymore.” Her voice was shaking again and Chaplain felt the burn of tears, “His name is Walter Chaplain Churchill and he is my biological father. And the murderer of my older sister, and also her rapist.”


	10. 10.

The hearing aid in her ear was hurting- it was nowhere near as comfortable as the last one she had but she hadn’t the time or money to replace it to the same caliber.

While Sonny and Nick were out of the room she removed it and sighed when the ambient noise around her died down, only being taken in from her right ear. She laid her head down on her arms and waited for her coworkers to return, to keep questioning her on Winston. She wasn’t sure what else she could say; Chaplain had already went over all of the women he had targeted, excluding herself, but she knew that was coming.

She wasn’t going to get away from it.

Was she allowed to leave the witness interrogation room? Probably. She knew that Jace was in the room next door with Amanda and Fin so she was at ease. Chaplain stood and cracked her back, leaving her hearing aid on the table as she opened the door, intent on getting some water and finding Nick, to ask him to let up for a little bit. She was exhausted.

When she stepped out however, Matt was there. He was yelling at Rafael and Olivia, Nick and Sonny behind them. Chaplain stopped to attempt to hear what he was saying but it was muffled because she was hiding around a  corner and her left ear was to the commotion.

_“-you can’t arrest him-”_

_“-done nothing wrong-”_

_“-he’s lived with me for-”_

_“-GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME-”_

Chaplain could hear the scuffle so she stepped around the corner and lost her breath at the sight. Matt was being held back by a very angry looking Sonny and a rather annoyed looking Rafael while a uniform was walking…

She was walking…

He was…

He…

He made eye contact with Chaplain and the world slowed, movements slurring together and then he winked and they sped back up again. He recognized her, saw her for who she was even though she had four new scars on her body. Suddenly everything was on fire and memories were firing off in her head. Chaplain was in her room, cowering in fear. Then she was in court. Then she was covered in blood. Then back in court. In a basement. Tied to a chair. Back in court. In her mother’s arms. Holding a newborn child with care.

Then she was back in the station, Nick shaking her by the shoulders and calling her name. He looked concerned and suddenly her body felt dirty, dirty with memories and with what she had done with Nick the night prior.

“He’s… That’s-”  
  
“Winston Chaplain Churchill.” Her name felt dirty when it was preceded by his, but she knew that would go away. He was caught, “Your father. You need to breathe, Chaplain.” She did, inhaling and wondering if Nick was leaning to the right or if the adrenaline in her system was making everything louder.

“He hurt me,” Chaplain was crying, tears rolling down her cheeks as her mouth puckered out with sadness. Suddenly she was sixteen years old, bleeding from her back while her father cackled, “He hurt me _bad_ ,” She was speaking like she was sixteen, too, and suddenly she shoved past Nick, ready to rip Winston’s throat out. “You killed Tanya!” She was howling, going for the man who had fertilized her mother’s egg so many years prior, “And you fucked me over for years!” He just laughed when Nick wound her arms behind her back as she thrashed out, legs flailing out as she kept screaming. She didn’t care that she was making a scene.

The officer shoved Winston into the holding cell and kept her hand nervously on her baton as Nick turned and pushed Chaplain roughly toward a desk.

“What do you mean he killed some girl named Tanya? My father has never seen you a day in his life, you crazy bitch!” Matt spat, rounding on Chaplain. He blocked Nick from getting to her, and the whole room watched with rapt attention.

“Fuck you,” Was the only thing she could think to say. Then she pointed a finger toward the man grinning widely in the cell, “That man abused me from the day he retained custody of me. From the day I was eleven years old until he had to go on the run because he tied me to a chair, cut me open so much I nearly fucking died and then killed my older sister barely three weeks after she had a child!”

“He’s my father!” Matt shoved Chaplain back and she crashed into the desk, “His name is Walter James Anderson and he doesn’t have anymore children!”

“Bullshit!” Chaplain shoved Matt back and the rest of the team finally heard the commotion, making their way to where it was, “He has three more than you! I’m one of them! He fucking killed the other and his other daughter? She’s God knows where because after he killed Tanya and left me to die in that basement she disappeared along with him!” Sonny grabbed her arm and tugged her back toward the room where she was being interviewed, “You don’t fucking believe me? Get a paternity test. Hell, have the lab check my DNA against yours. I bet they still have some of Tanya’s, or do you want them to check it against her daughters? What proof do you need?”

Sonny shoved her around the corner and held up his hands to try and get her to calm down. She was still fuming, shaking, nearly collapsing because her knees were knocking together. “You need to calm down,” Sonny placed his hands on her shoulders, forcing Chaplain to look him in the eyes, “We can’t have you here if you’re going to cause a scene.” She nodded, closing her eyes and forcing air into her lungs and out of her nose.

She was still shaking and Sonny lead her back to the interrogation room, slipping her aid back into her ear for her. “I’m calm,” It was a lie because her stomach was still churning, Matt’s words echoing in her head. “But I might have a younger brother I never knew about.” Chaplain looked up at Sonny, who was standing on the other side of the table with his hands on his hips. Before either person could say anything, Olivia entered with Jace in tow. A nurse followed soon after.

“Matthew Anderson has requested a test of your DNA, Jace’s DNA and the DNA on file for Tanya Andrews.” Chaplain nodded and was amazed at how swift the woman unpacked her things, how quickly she had arrived. Matt was a legal apprentice, or something of that caliber, so she shouldn’t really be surprised. She let her cheek get swapped, already knowing the feeling and the procedure and then she watched as Jace fidgeted with her hands in her lap as her cheeks was swabbed, foreign to the process. After all, the last time she was swabbed like that she wasn’t even a month old. Chaplain sighed and put her head in her hands.

“This is a nightmare,” Jace mumbled, near crying, after the swabbing was done, “I want to go home.” Without looking up Chaplain placed a hand over one of her niece’s.

“I know, Pequeño,” She mumbled and then looked up at the teenager, “I’ll call Abuelita in the morning and she’ll be on her way in a second. You know this.” Jace flung herself from her perch on the table and into Chaplain’s arms, nearly sobbing.

“I want him dead.” She said with a firm voice. The adults in the room made eye contact, her legal guardian paling at Jace’s confession.

“Don’t say that. No deseamos la muerte de otras personas.” It was a small command, but Jace nodded.

“Lo siento.” In a motherly way, Chaplain rubbed her back and pressed her face into Jace’s neck.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Pequeño, never be sorry for saying what you think.”

* * *

Their apartment didn’t feel like theirs anymore. Chaplain was constantly looking over her shoulder, checking and rechecking the locks.

She had barely slept in weeks.

The DNA tests had come back all positive- or was it negative?- and Matt was Chaplain’s half brother, Tanya’s half brother.

Joanne’s half brother.

It wasn’t news because by the time the results came back Chaplain had come to terms with it.. She had even wanted to bond with him as the older sister, to teach him, an instinct she couldn’t quell but then he provided a solid alibi for Winston and had gotten him out of jail even though Lansing PD had sent over the files of his victims and they had proof.

He was on the streets of New York and Matt refused to talk to her.

“Hey, dinner,” Jace snapped her fingers in front of Chaplain’s face, rousing the elder’s attention from the stack of files in front of her. “Get off your ass and eat. It’s been nearly four days.” Chaplain nodded, though her stomach wasn’t fit for anything with the way it was clenched with stress and dehydration and hunger and sadness.

“You’re nagging me.”  
  
“You’re falling behind on your mothering skills, Aunt Lain. Get it together.” It was a joke but neither was in the mood for jokes. Not with the threat that was hanging over their skulls, teetering on the edge of destruction and threatening to crush everything they were. “I want to go back to school but I don’t want to be in danger,” The whole thing had taken a toll on Jace, as she was pulled from school and given her work to do at home. The thought of Winston going to her niece’s school, searching for her, finding her, ending what he started, made black dots swim in Chaplain’s vision. Jace was the one to suggest it, Chaplain was the one to endorse it.

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” She was barely picking at her food, a pizza made from scratch by Jace, “I’ve been thinking about sending you back to Lansing to stay with Abuelita y Pipo. It’s safer there. You get along with Raquel well.” Jace gaped at her. True, she did get along with her other Aunt and her Uncle looked up to her, but she didn’t want to go back, not to Lansing. She liked New York.

“No.” It was firm and Chaplain had expected it. She had thought that they idea of seeing Raquel and Enrique again would soften the blow, but it hadn’t.

So she sighed and made sure to take another bite of the pizza before answering, “You would be safe.”  
  
“I wouldn’t be safe because I would be worried about you constantly. You can’t send me back.”

“I can and if this gets any more out of hand I will send you back. There’s nothing you can do, Jace. I promised your mother I would keep you safe and letting you stay in the same city as the man who killed her is not safe.” Chaplain had pulled her mother voice from the depths of her gut because it had been nearly two years since she had to use it, “Wouldn’t you agree? Keeping you in the same city as Winston could kill you.”  
  
Jace slammed her fist down on the table and stood, “It could kill you too! You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a mother, do you think I want to see you dead?”

Chaplain stood too, jaw clenching, vein jumping in her neck, “I am not the concern here. I have lived life, you aren’t even eighteen yet. Your life is more valuable than mine. You seem to forget that I woke up with ropes burning my wrists, with blood covering my body and I wasn’t sure if it was mine or somebody else’s and you forget that I saw my sister, your mother, laying in a sea of red with a whole in her neck and I called her name and I screamed until my throat was fucking raw and the someone heard me. I’ve seen what he can do, I have felt what he can do. If Winston comes after you or after me, you are going back to Lansing. Esta es mi decisión final. _Fin de le discusión._ ” Her chest was heaving and Chaplain knew she had said too much, but there wasn’t any time for Jace to answer because three hard knocks on the apartment door stopped the argument in it’s tracks.

As Chaplain reached for her gun, always holstered, Jace scampered back and ducked behind the couch. It was routine, almost, by that point, and Chaplain’s feet barely made a sound as she approached the door. Her arms were still as if she was on the job, and nobody had identified themselves but they knocked again.

“Who is it?” The sentence was barked more like an order, Chaplain switching from her mothering voice to her cop voice. Still nobody answered and the unease in her belly grew. Her apartment lacked a peep hole so she was going into the situation blind, everything but her arms shaking.

Jace was whimpering and Chaplain wanted nothing more than to send her back to Lansing in that exact moment, but she had to deal with whoever was behind the door. Three more knocks and she ripped the door open, hiding her gun behind her thigh with one hand. The person behind the door was a boy, barely twelve years old, and he had a package next to his feet.

“Who are you?”

The boy pointed to Chaplain’s ear, revealed by the bun she had her hair twisted into, and then pointed to his own ear. The concept wasn’t lost on Chaplain but to sign to him would be to either reveal her firearm or holster it, neither option seemed to be good in her paranoia. But she did it anyway, crouching down to his level and holstering her pistol.

_**Who are you?** _

Chaplain had learned sign language after her hearing was damaged, fearing that she would lose the rest of it and have no way of communication Suddenly, she was glad that she had.

_**I’m not supposed to tell you that. I’m only supposed to give this to you.** _

Chaplain nodded as the boy pushed the package to her and she eyed it warily.

**_Okay. What’s it in? Who asked you to deliver it?_ **

The boy shook his head and then turned, sprinting away. Chaplain looked down at the box and then stood, turning her back and pressing her hands to her face. “Jace, call Olivia. Tell her we have a box with unidentified contents and unknown sender.” Jace nodded and reached for the phone as Chaplain carefully stepped over the box and into the hallway, looking down both corridors to see if anyone was watching. Jace appeared in the doorway, giving the box a nearly three foot berth.

“Olivia wants to talk to you.” She held out the phone but Chaplain waved her off.

“Just ask her what she wants me to do.”

Jace turned back to the phone and asked, voice shaking. Chaplain knew she was attempting not to vomit, to give away just how afraid she was.

“She wants you to start clearing the building while I guard this thing.” Chaplain nodded and started with the door across from her, rapping on it and drawing the attention of the man who lived inside. He opened the door looking very grumpy and half dressed.

“What do you want?” The man, Jack Craw, had never liked Chaplain much. That was probably because he was convinced Jace was her child, conceived in wedlock.

Chaplain flashed her badge, “I apologize for the inconvenience, Mr. Craw but it seems we have a situation across the hall. I’m going to need you to vacate the apartment for the time being, along with any family or pets that may be inside.”

“Under whose orders?” He was scowling, eyeing her badge as if it as fake.

“Under my orders. I am a Detective for NYPD and I am going to have to ask you once more to vacate the premises, sir.” He snarled before nodding and shutting the door in Chaplain’s face, nearly knocking her nose in the process. She sighed and turned back to Jace, who was curled up on the floor with her eyes on the package and sighed. “Will you be okay here while I try and get the rest of them to leave? I’m sure backup’s on it’s way but I’m not sure how far out it is.” Jace nodded and Chaplain thought she looked a little pale, very close to passing out, but she had a job to do. There were elderly tenants on her floor, ones who wouldn’t be able to reach the elevator by themselves it would take some time and Chaplain would have to do it until the uniforms reached her apartment building.

She went on her way, knocking on doors and flashing her badge until the elevator at the end of the hall opened, the tenants that were on their way in letting those on their way out take precedence before disappearing behind the doors. Chaplain didn’t even look at their faces as she held up her badge and said, “Sorry, folks, you’re going to have to vacate the premises under order of the NYPD. I am sorry for this inconvenience.”

It was Fin who spoke first, always the one with the jokes, “Churchill, we _are_ the NYPD. Cavalry’s here.” Nearly immediately the group of Fin, Amanda, and Sonny watched Chaplain visibly relax and shoved her badge back onto the waistline of her jeans.

“Jesus, you guys couldn’t have come sooner? Where’s everybody else?” By everybody else she meant Nick, but she also meant the bomb squad because who knew what was in that package? Fin, the first to speak yet again, clapped a hand down on Chaplain shoulder and smiled.

“Our orders are to get you and your girl down to the station before they start their work. Nick’s downstairs waiting in the car to take you back. Amanda’s going to help Jace pack and Sonny is going to help you. I’m going to watch the package.” Chaplain nodded and led them to her apartment, stepping over the package and pulling Jace up, into a hug. She let Amanda take her and then followed Sonny through the house to her room, heaving a black backpack out of the closet.

“You already packed?” He asked, opening the bag and rifling through it, “When did you do this?”

“The first day I moved in here. I’ve always made a go-bag.” She laid down on her bed and tried not to look vulnerable as Sonny sat down on the edge and put a comforting hand on her calf. “I’ve been making them since Tanya died. In case this ever happened.” She was tired and sleep almost took her but Sonny riled her before she could fall off of that ledge.

“Come on, let’s get you to the car.”

* * *

She wasn’t saying anything to Nick as he sat in the driver’s seat, waiting for Amanda to deliver Jace. In fact, Chaplain hadn’t said more than seven words to a sentence since they… And then Winston… Really, she had nothing to say to him.

What would she say? _“Hey, you were a good fuck and I’m sorry that my father is a rapist and a killer and messed up my chances of you wanting anything more?”_

Like that would blow over well.

So she settled for taking her hair down and using it as a shield as she looked out the window, on the lookout for Jace and her bag.

“Carisi told me you had a go-bag packed.” Nick was trying to start conversation like he wasn’t thinking the same thing that she was, “That’s not like you.”

“You don’t know if it’s like me or not,” Chaplain snarled, unable to stop herself, “You, and the rest of the team, you barely know me. Though, that’s not all your fault.” She looked over at him and shivered, her bare arms basically glowing in the night.

Nick, who was looking rather attractive in a red flannel rolled to his elbows, peeled it off and handing it to Chaplain. The woman pulled it on and knew that Nick was going to drop the conversation, Jace was exiting the building. Her head was turned toward the ground and Amanda had her arm around the younger girl. When the car door shut, Jace’s hand snuck through the gap between the seat and the door to hold Chaplain’s.

“Where are we going?” Jace’s voice was small and Nick pulled out of his parking space, answering almost immediately.

“I’m taking you to the station. There you can have twenty four seven coverage because whoever left you that package knows where you live. That’s not safe.”  
  
“They know where I work, too. They know I’m nearly deaf in my left ear. They know a lot about me, Nick. Winston did this.” Nick gave her a quick side-eye.

“There’s no evidence of that yet.”  
  
“There will be. When the squad opens it. It won’t be a bomb, though it might be. He’s sadistic, Nick. He gets off on torturing me. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something of Tanya’s, or Joanne’s. I know this man, Nick.”

He held up a hand, “I never said you didn’t. I’m just saying that you don’t know that it was Winston.”  
  
“But you do.”

“I have my instincts.” He nodded, “I do. But that doesn’t mean we can point the blame right now. You know as well as I do that’s not how being a detective works.” Chaplain pulled his flannel tighter around her body, nodding.

“Yeah, I know.”

The legal system had failed her, and her family, many times before.

It was looking like it was about to fail them once again.


	11. 11.

The station was abuzz when they arrived, Nick leading Chaplain by the elbow and Jace with a firm hand between her shoulder blades.

People were staring, again, and it made the scars on Chaplain’s face burn as Nick held open the door for the two he was supposed to be protecting. She set her bag down on one of the beds before turning to watch as Nick helped Jace toss her bag onto the top bunk.

“Thank you, Nick.” Chaplain whispered, leaning against the pole to the bunk beds. “I appreciate this.” He shrugged.

“It’s my job.” And just like that, Nick turned and walked from the room as if Chaplain had offended him, wounded him. Jace crawled up to her bunk and buried herself in the covers, turning toward the wall to signify the fact that she didn’t want to speak to her aunt. The latter meandered to the mirror covering the wall, leaning one palm against it as she observed her sunken skin, dark circles under her eyes.

In a flash of realization, it occurred to her that there was probably someone on guard for twenty four hours a day on the other side of the glass so she whipped around and rolled the sleeves on Nick’s flannel. She paced the room and it was ten minutes later that she heard Jace’s snores, signalling the younger had fallen asleep. That only made Chaplain more restless, threading her hands through her hair before she turned to face the mirror again.

“Am I allowed to leave or am I stuck in this room?” A crack filled the air, a voice echoing through the room.

“You’re allowed to leave, Detective Churchill.” She nodded and pulled open the door, shutting it softer than she needed to. But she wanted to keep Jace asleep because neither was able to get much sleep over the previous weeks.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she needed to go somewhere because there was nowhere to go. She was on leave, the word burned in her skull, until her father was apprehended for his crimes. Everyone knew that Matt was lying, that he was covering his father’s ass, but nobody could do anything about it.

“Hey, Churchill!” She turned to squint her eyes at the assistant that was scampering toward her, note in hand, “I mean, uh, Detective Churchill. My apologies. Sergeant Benson wants to see you in her office. She says the contents of the box have been revealed?” Chaplain snatched the note from his hand and read over it before thanking him in passing, waving off his shaking in favor of making her way to Olivia’s office, nearly sprinting.

“You wanted to see me, Sergeant?” Her voice was shaking and everyone was in Olivia’s office, “Esto no parece bueno.” Olivia gestured for Chaplain to step inside, to shut the door behind her so she obeyed, trying not to fidget too much, trying to pretend that Sonny wasn’t staring at the flannel on her body, like Amanda wasn’t smirking at Fin and like Nick wasn’t pretending she wasn’t wearing his shirt.

“There wasn’t a bomb in your package,” Olivia started out, “But I want you to see what is.” She pushed a laminated paper across the desk, twisting it until it was right-side up for Chaplain. Nervously, the latter approached the photo, knowing that the worst was going to be printed there. When the paper was in her hands, she let her eyes fall over the contents of the box, laid out on a table and photographed for her to see.

First there was an empty can of sprite, crushed in the middle. Then there was a flyer for a….

_A carnival._

The wind was knocked out of Chaplain but she had to pretend like she didn’t understand the items presented to her. The next item was an orange shirt with **STAFF** printed on the back in black, ripped to shreds and stained with what she pretended was cherry drink.

The last item was a knife, one that she recognized more than she let on.

With her heart in her throat, Chaplain placed the photo back on the desk. “I recognize all of these items. They’re taunts. For me, specifically. And my mother. From Winston.”

“You’re sure?”  
  
“Yes.” Chaplain rapped the wooden desk with one knuckle, averting her eyes to the floor, “I was drinking a Sprite when my sister was taken from that carnival. I crushed it, just like that, because I damn near wet myself when I turned and saw Jace, and her stroller, but no Tanya. I was working the carnival while I was going to college. That’s my shirt. My blood. I was wearing it when I was…” She decided not to finish that sentence, instead finding eye contact with Olivia, “The knife, that’s the one that made those holes.” And then she stepped back to the door, pressing her back to it while her hands found a home in the pocket of her jeans, “I was knocked out, tied up, and Tanya was shot. I was tortured and then stripped nearly naked and left to die.”

“What do you make of the threat?” Olivia had clearly already picked the other minds in the room, looking for the one mind that knew the suspect like the back of her hand, “Does it mean anything specific to you?”

 _“A man who uses force is afraid of reasoning,”_ Chaplain recited the Kenyan proverb with ease, eyes nearly looking dead as she gazed at Olivia, _“See? You were right, Chaplain. I am afraid. Afraid of reasoning. Of death, Of letting you live. I should have done this a long time ago. Years of bruising my fists on you and your sisters, when I could have just used force earlier.”_ Her jaw clenched and Chaplain took a step forward, anger burning in her belly as she recited what she could never forget, _“And you might live, you might, and so might that baby of Tanya’s. But I’ll come back. I’ll be like a **ghost** , haunting you for your transgressions.” _Her voice tapered off and she felt tired, the lack of sleep finally catching up with her as she collapsed back against the door again. “That’s what I make of that threat.”

She didn’t want to stay in that room anymore, in Olivia’s office, because everyone’s eyes were on her and Nick was halfway to standing before she slammed the door behind her, sighing out more air than she thought she could hold.

Halfway across the squad room she stopped dead in her tracks. “Hija!” It was her Papá, red in the face with her mother and siblings behind him. He was rushing through the room, hell bent on getting to his daughter. Chaplain rushed right into his open arms, opening her’s as the flannel billowed around her. Raúl embraced her, strong arms keeping her close as she let herself go and began crying into his black suit jacket. He shushed her and then her mother pushed him off, taking her daughter into her arms in his place.

“You should have told us sooner, Chaplain. We would have come out much faster instead of having that man call us.” Chaplain kissed her mother on the cheek and tried to stop crying as Enrique, a small six year old boy with his father’s unruly tuft of near black hair and his mother’s green eyes, threw himself into her arms after she let their mother go, nimble arms taking her neck in a warm embrace as he chattered in Spanish, barely pausing to breath. Chaplain smiled and kissed his head, holding him with one arm as she took her sister, Raquel, into a hug.

She was nearly as tall as Chaplain with the same curly hair that they shared with their mother and her father’s brown eyes. They held so much more depth than Chaplains but Raquel… Raquel didn’t have the history her older sister had.

“You scared us, having that detective call.” Raquel held on tight and Enrique squirmed down to get up in his father’s arms instead.

“You really did, hija,” Raúl smiled at her, but it was bitter as Raquel reached up to wipe her older sister’s cheeks, “Where’s Jace? Is she safe?” From the corner of her eye, Chaplain watched her mother tense up and reach out for her youngest daughter, pulling their bodies together.

“Jace is asleep in the room where they’re keeping us until Winston is caught. I don’t think it will be long, though, he’s getting ready to come back after me.” She turned to her Mom and sighed, “You should have stayed in Lansing. He’s going to go after you, next.”

“I’ll protect her,” Enrique exclaimed, brandishing a fist in the air, “I’ll be just as strong as Papá!” The group grinned and Chaplain dug her fingers into his sides, making him shriek with laughter and twist to try and get away.

“Oh,” A familiar voice sounded off from behind them, “I’m so glad to see you’ve made it safely. ¿Como estuvo el viaje?” Nick stepped past Chaplain to shake her mother’s hand, Raquel’s, Enrique’s and then finally Raúl’s. “I knew your daughter here wasn’t going to call you, so I decided to take the liberty and inform you.” He tossed and arm over her shoulder and bumped hips with Chaplain, still beaming like he had won a prize. Chaplain blushed, but the only one to pick up on it was Raquel.

“Yes, gracias por eso, Nick.” Her family watched on with smiles.

“El viaje fue maravilloso. Gracias por preguntar,” Her mother winked at Chaplain when Nick’s feathers seemed to ruffle, a smile spreading across his face, “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish, Nicholas.”

“Of course he does,” Raúl cut in, gesturing loosely with the hand that wasn’t holding his son, “Look at him! Es cubana. Basta con echar un vistazo a la piel.”

With gritted teeth and a forced smile, Chaplain gave a warning growl to her father, “ _Papá_ ,” Nick shook her by the shoulder.

“No, don’t yell at him, Chaplain. He’s right. Mira mi piel. Hermosa.” He was borderline blushing, something that Chaplain found endearing; yet she wouldn’t voice that because Nick was leaving, claiming something of importance at his house and her family was looking tired and worried, so she really just wanted to get them into beds that weren’t airplane seats.  
  
Enrique was practically asleep in Raúl’s arms, head drooping onto his father’s shoulder, hands dangling loosely. Raúl didn’t seem to mind though, his own head was tilted toward Enrique’s like he was trying to stabilize it and be closer at the same time.

Chaplain was leading them to where they were to sleep when Raquel jogged forward and slipped their hands together, giving her older sister a side eye the latter knew too well. “So, Nick,” Raquel said his name with such suggestion that Chaplain had to bump their hips together.

“You’re misunderstanding something here, Ra.” Chaplain held the door open as Raúl slid through it, immediately seeking a bed for Enrique. Their mother kissed them both on the cheek before letting them have their sister bonding time, “Detective Amaro and I are partners. Only partners.” Raquel let the door shut before she leaned on it, arms crossed and grinning at her sister.

“Only partners? So, he isn’t the one that you slept with?” Chaplain choked on a gasp, grabbing Raquel by the shoulders so she could drag her around a corner for more privacy. “He is!”

“¿Quien te dijo?” Chaplain hissed, “I only told Mamá about that!” Raquel seemed to grin more, splitting her face harshly.

“You forget I have a phone line in my room. Usted me dijo sin realmente decírmelo.” Chaplain rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around her sister’s shoulders, dropping her forehead against the younger’s shoulder. It felt safe to hold her sister, to know her family was in the next room; Chaplain knew they were safe, knew she was safe, but she just wanted to get it over with, get Winston in jail and get back to work.

“Te extrañe,” They whispered in unison before letting out near identical, watery laughs, “Vamos a llevarte a la cama.” Raquel nodded and held back a yawn before letting her sister lead her to the door, to a bed, before she whispered goodnight and was asleep as soon as she hit the pillow. Chaplain watched with a proud face, arms crossed before she stepped up on the mattress, grasping the frame of the bunk above it, to pull herself up and check on Enrique. He was sound asleep, hands clutched around a ragged stuffed bunny that Chaplain herself held in the same way.

She felt as if it was in a different life, one millions of years prior.

“You always check on everyone,” Her mother smiled at her from across the room, Raúl laying behind her as she sat on the very edge of the bed, hands wrung in her lap. “Even when you were little, barely walking, and you would go and check on Tanya and Joanne like it was your job.” Chaplain smiled and moved to bid her parents goodnight, to hug them, like a child once more.

“Well, it’s my job now. To look after you guys. Especially now that it’s literally my job to protect and serve.” Her mother stood and nearly choked the air out of Chaplain with her arms, trying to convey how much she was loved, how much she was missed.

“I just want you to stay safe.” Her mother whispered, kissing her cheek.

“Deberías dormir un poco,” Chaplain whispered, pulling back and rubbing her mother’s shoulder. She said the same thing to her father, bending down to kiss his cheek before finding her way back to where her bag sat underneath Jace’s bed. Chaplain checked on Jace, who was still curled up in an impossibly tight ball, looking stressed but asleep.

And safe.

The knot in Chaplain’s stomach uncoiled and she thought that she was finally able to sleep, merely pushing her bag into the floor before crawling under the covers fully clothed, without taking her boots off. She turned her hearing aid off, setting it on her bag; Chaplain was asleep before her body fully relaxed, one arm under her pillow and the other hanging over the edge.

Sleep had always come easy to her, even in the wake of her sister’s death. It was her one escape, the one way she could feel the weight off of her shoulders, the one way she could escape whatever hell was going on in her life. It was the one time Chaplain could go back, rewind, relive her best memories; the ones that weren’t stained by blood or tainted with death or grungy with gunshot residue and knife slices.

For the first time in nearly three weeks Chaplain was relaxed until she heard the door open, someone moving across the floor slowly as if they were trying to be silent. Her eyes opened and focused on the wall as she struggled to hear what was happening in the room with her good ear pressed to the pillow, muffling all sound. If she was careful she could probably slip out of the bed and accost them, taking down the threat before anything could happen to her or her family, but then she heard Jace’s voice, above her, laced with panic, “Aunt Lynn, there’s a man in here!” And a long shush, from across the room.

Chaplain was up in a second, room spinning briefly as black crawled up her vision in the dark room. She identified the stranger, standing in the corner by the last open bunks with a bag at his feet.

She took three quick steps toward him before her eyes focused in the dark and she realized that it was Nick, holding his hands out to appease her as he knew what she could do when startled. “Jesucristo, Nick, tienes que dejar de hacer furtivamente para arriba en mí.” She groaned, wiping her hands down her face, “What time is it?” Chaplain body was aching from sleeping in such an awkward position.

“It’s nearly midnight,” He mumbled, “I came in for my shift watching you guys, but Liv said I could sleep in here and it would all be fine. That way you don’t feel like someone’s watching you from behind the mirror all the time.” Chaplain nodded and turned back to Jace, waving her off.

“Go back to sleep, Pequeño, it’s only Nick.” Jace was watching him with wide, weary eyes and bedhead but she complied, dropping her head to the pillow once more.

“So we’re on shifts now?” Chaplain tried to make her whisper a joke, grabbing her hearing aid and putting it back in, eventually sitting on the edge of Nick’s bed beside him. “I feel like a child.”  
  
“No,” Nick shook his head, placing a hand on her thigh. It reminded her of all of the times she spoke with Nick in the car, telling him things she hadn’t told her own mother, “You shouldn’t. We’re only trying to protect you until this blows over. Besides, you’re back on duty tomorrow. Seven sharp.” Chaplain tossed her head back and groaned, leaning her weight on the man beside her.

“You couldn’t have told me that before I got up at midnight? I’m never going to be able to get back to sleep now; not without something to help me along and my phone doesn’t have any music on it.” Nick have her the most suggestive side eye that he could muster. It wasn’t something he wanted to do, but he did and Chaplain knew that he couldn’t take it back even if he tried.

“I can help.” He mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple. Nick pulled her down to his bed, wrapping them in the covers before he covered Chaplain’s waist with his arm, pushing his face into the base of her neck. She sighed and pushed back into him, not really one for cuddling outside of a relationship but also not the type of woman to turn down cuddling with a man like Nick Amaro.

“You’re warm,” She observed before she drifted back off.


	12. 12.

Her world was shaking, the ground beneath her tilting as people screamed from the top of the ferris wheel, her sister snatched up her niece, both looking toward Chaplain for guidance. The Sprite can fell from her hands as she tried to figure out what to do in the event of an earthquake.

Suddenly everyone was looking at her and the print on the back of her shirt felt two times too heavy. People were looking to her for guidance and she was too young, too fresh out of school and fresh out of hell and finally free and she didn’t know what to do; why would people assume she knew what to do?

The ground churned violently to the left and Chaplain lost her footing, the side of her body smacking hard against the ground before her eyes closed and then opened. She was staring up at the ceiling, a slate gray that was the same as the rest of the station and Nick was standing above her, hands on her shoulders. He looked concerned, but Chaplain just sat up and brushed him off, adjusting her aching left ear so maybe she could get through the day without having to take out her aid.

“I’m fine,” She whispered as she pushed herself up, removing the flannel and holding it out for Nick to take. He was already dressed, suit fitting his form like it was tailored, and it probably was. He took it from her, slowly and then Nick walked around her, slipping it back onto her body to cover her black tank top and the slash scars on her shoulders. He didn’t saw anything about them, knowing too much of her life had been revealed in the interrogation weeks prior.

“Keep this. Wear it today.” He smoothed the flannel over Chaplain’s shoulders and she sighed, not knowing where he was going with it in a room full of her sleeping family. “It fits you better than me, anyway.” Nick bypassed her breasts to flatten his palms against her stomach, drawing her body back to his. He sighed into her neck as she let her head fall onto his shoulder, hands clutching at the sleeves of the flannel on her body. One button by one Nick made his way back up her body, closing the flannel over her stomach as he went. It was oddly intimate for coworkers, for friends who had slept together once, weeks prior, and then hadn’t spoken about it, but Chaplain let him dress her. She let Nick squeeze her shoulders and kiss just below her ear, tracking the curve of her neck down to the edge of his flannel. “You know,” Nick whispered, “We need to talk about what happened soon.”  
  
“I think we’re already a couple weeks away from soon, Nick,” Chaplain answered, hands raising and falling behind her to twist in Nick’s hair, keeping his face against her neck, “But we do need to talk.” Nick nodded and then pulled away when Enrique began shifted, and her mother cracked an eye open, smirking out of his sight. Chaplain waved her off as Enrique fell back to sleep and Nick held open the door for Chaplain as she gathered her badge and her gun, her wallet and a new battery for her aid just in case hers ran out after being on all night. She followed Nick out and tried to pretend, once more, that she wasn’t wearing his flannel. She was exhausted and it seemed that they didn’t have a case that she could work that day. She sat at her desk, bidding goodbye to her family as they left for breakfast, and then went back to paperwork. Hours later, Olivia spoke.

“Churchill,” She barked, drawing the attention of the younger detective, the one that wasn’t really doing the paperwork but only going through the motions.

“Yeah?” Chaplain didn’t bother with formalities at that moment in time, barely slipping her eyes up from her desk to her boss standing in front of her, “Sorry, I’m a little distracted.” Olivia just shook her head.

“No, I understand. I need you to meet Rollins at Barba’s office. He wants to prep you for Thomas and Carly’s trial. Everyone is already prepped.” Chaplain nodded and rose, stretching out her back as she pulled on her jean jacket over the flannel, grasping the keys to her motorcycle in her hand.

“Alright. You can message Barba that I’m on my way. If my parents come back, will you tell them I’m okay?” Olivia nodded and watched as Chaplain headed for the elevator, sagging with exhaustion. She made her way to her bike and threw a leg over it, unsure if she really wanted to climb on or not. She was tired, but she knew she had to prep lest she muck up the trial. She pulled out onto the streets, barely missing a car that wanted to clip her tail end, but then she was on her way to Barba’s office.

She was stepping onto the elevator before she even realized that she couldn’t remember the drive over, cursing. Chaplain wiped a hand down her face and leaned against the wall as the elevator hummed its way up to the correct floor. She was exhausted and as the doors opened struck with fear.

Matt was there and they met eyes, Chaplain shuffling out as he shuffled in. One moment of quick deliberation and her hand shot out, her voice cracking, “Hey, Matt, do you want to get dinner? I mean, so we can get to know each other?”

His eyes widened and he laughed, “Why? So you can make an ass out of yourself telling me who you think my father is?”

“No,” Chaplain had to resist snarking at him, “You’re my- we’re siblings. I want to get to know you. As like an older sister. Because you’re my younger brother and I don’t care if you’re defending our father through all the shit he’s done, I still want to give you a chance.” The man glared at her, dressed to the nines in a suit that would make Barba proud, but his gaze softened.

“Sure,” He nodded, “Yeah. Barba will give you my information.” Chaplain stepped back and watched the elevator doors close before sagging. She felt tears brim but sucked them back, turning and heading toward Barba’s office.

“Go on in, Detective,” Carmen smiled at her, “They’re expecting you.”

“Thanks, Carmen.” Chaplain backtracked and pointed finger-guns at the secretary, “And, uh, I totally still owe you that muffin! I promise I’ll bring you a homemade muffin soon- I’m allowed to move back in since they’re giving me a protective detail.”

“You don’t have to, Detective!” She smiled, “Take your time, I swear.” Chaplain nodded and then pushed into the office, sighing as guarded eyes landed on her.

“Hey, guys,” She mumbled, “Olivia said you needed to prep me for trial?”


	13. 13.

Nick Amaro was finally home, relaxed, because there were officers outside of Chaplain’s house and her family was safe- not to mention she was safe. But he couldn’t sleep.

How could he sleep?

For weeks the only thing he could think about was Chaplain underneath him, her lips on his neck, her hands scratching into his back It was driving him insane. He new how she sounded when she came apart at the seams and when he put her back together.

He groaned and rolled over, trying to rub the memories away with the butt of his hands on his eyes. He couldn’t think of her like that- at least not before they talked about what it meant. Plus her father situation wasn’t the best- Nick was sure that Chaplain wasn’t in the mood for a talk, let alone a relationship! But it was eating him up inside, leaving a sick feeling in his stomach at all times of the day. He kicked himself for it because he felt like it was purely a rebound for Maria but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Chaplain.

The way she cared for Jace, and her siblings, the way she lit up when she smiled or made a joke. Other than that she was a simple beauty and-

Nick cursed again.

“Fuck!” He shouted, swinging his legs over the side of his bed, “Fuck.” The sentiment was repeated softly as he stood. His apartment seemed so empty so when knocks sounded at the door, they echoed off the empty walls and hardwood floors. He startled but went to answer it anyway: midnight be damned. He wasn’t too worried about just wearing too big sweats and a tank top but when he answered and saw Chaplain in his shirt, he regretted already changing into his pajamas but not sleeping.

“I’m glad you answered,” Chaplain whispered, “I thought about what you said today and we do need to talk.” Nick swallowed and moved back to let her in, watching the way she adjusted her hearing aid before turning back and slamming the door, taking the it right out of his hands. “I don’t know what to say! I want to talk about it but I don’t know what to say.”

“Look, Chaplain,” Nick said, reaching out for her elbow, “I don’t know what you want but I know what I want.” His eyes softened as he gazed down at the woman in his flannel, “I know what I want.” He let his words trail off, hands reaching for her face. Gently, Nick brought her toward him, lips ghosting over hers. He waited, hesitated, because Nick was going to let her make the first move. He was telling her that he wanted her, but she had to want him to.

Nick was tired of wanting people who didn’t want him back.

He needed to know, craved knowing, that she wanted him. And when she pushed back his heart soared, her lips slotting against his. Nick sighed through his nose as she pushed him back, surging against his body. He let her take control and lead the kisses. They became more feverish and her hands gripped the front of his tank top, twisting in the black fabric.

Nick’s hand hung limply at his sides and they twitched, itching to grasp a handful of fabric but he stayed still as Chaplain pulled away. She gazed up at him, eyes wide, face flushed. She stutter-stepped back three steps and covered her face with her hands.

Nick closed his eyes and nodded to himself, pulling her close to his body. Chaplain was warm to his cold, their bodies pressed together making an even temperature between the both of them. She slotted neatly beneath Nick’s strong arms and her head tucked beneath his chin. Her body was soft against his and Nick closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of another body against his in a purely intimate way.

He turned his face to press his cheek against the top of her head, “I want that, too,” Chaplain whispered, “I want you, Nick. But I’m scared.” Her voice hardened then, steel covering the velvet of her usually lilt, “Miedo de mi padre. I know what he can do. Lo he visto. Me he sentido. Yo no quiero eso para ti, o para mi madre, mi padre, Raquel, Enrique, o Jace. No quiero esto para cualquiera de ustedes. Sometimes I think it would be easier to just give him what he wants.” Nick felt the familiar, icy fear grip his stomach and he could barely utter his next sentence.

“What does he want?”

“He wants me. I met with Matt today, to have lunch, because he’s my younger brother, you know? I want to get to know him because la familia es importante. He told me that Walter finally admitted to being my father and… Matt said that Walter wants to be in my life. Maybe… I should let him so he can get whatever he fucking wants and leave Jace alone.”

She gasped as Nick pulled her tighter, arms constricting around her body. “No.” His voice was stronger than he had been in years, “You will not sacrifice yourself, Chaplain. You will not turn yourself into a martyr because you think that is what is right.” A heartbeat of silence and Nick spoke again, “We’ll get him on something. We’ve got evidence pointing to him. He’s our main suspect. He’ll fuck up and we’ll get him and you’ll be okay.”

Chaplain nodded against his chest, sighing into his tank top. “Will you take me to bed? I left the protective detail with Jace and my family.”

“I really should get you home.” He rumbled.

“I feel safe with you, Nick,” Her voice warbled, a whisper barely heard over his breathing, “I haven’t felt safe in years. Please, just let me stay tonight.” His throat clogged with emotion and Nick closed his eyes, nodding, a silent plea to God that he would be able to protect her and make sure that she would always feel safe with him. Before she fell asleep she pulled her hearing aid out and set it on the bedside table.

* * *

Chaplain stretched out, bare stomach pressed against a silky sheet. Her hand was brushing over a strong, muscular pec and then traveled to a defined clavicle. For a moment shock ran through her system but then she remembered missing her medication and heading toward Nick’s apartment. Keeping herself together for a little longer, she sighed and let Nick roll toward her, his own hand skimming over the bare line of her back, pulling her body into his.

The both sighed as his stubble brushed across her skin in the dip of the backside of her sports bra, his chest blanketing her thin form. He kissed her gently, speaking in a voice as rough as the stubble on his face, “Buenos días, hermosa. ¿Cómo has dormido?”

Chaplain sighed happily, “I slept better than I have in months. You’re very warm.”

He hummed, “No, Chaplain, you’re the warm one. I’m frigid. Your body is warm and it’s… Nice.” She giggled and Nick pushed her over onto her back to properly cuddle her.

“¿Qué va a pasar entre nosotros ahora?” She whispered into his neck, running a soft palm over his abs, “What are we? What about our jobs?” She felt Nick tense under her but when she pressed her fingertips into the bone of his hip he relaxed and sighed through his nose.

“I’ve had the job take more than one person away from me,” He explained lowly, words barely registering in her left ear, “I don’t want to lose you. Not while Walter is after you. Not while you and Jace need me. I know that she doesn’t really know me, but I want to be here for her.” Chaplain smiled into his warm skin.

“That’s because you’re a father, Nick. I didn’t feel that way at first. I resented her because, you know, she was this tiny, screaming goblin. Estaba viva y mi hermana estaba muerta. I hated her but then she started growing up and she began breaking my heart. When she called me Mom for the first time I nearly died. I never once let her forget her mother.” Silence filled the room before a chuckle rumbled somewhere deep in Nick’s chest.

“Tiny, screaming goblin?” He laughed, “That’s the worst description of a baby that I’ve ever heard!” Chaplain nodded as they laughed together, for a brief moment nothing was wrong. She was just a woman in bed with a man who liked her as much as she liked him. She was leaning over to put her hearing aid in, turning it on, and he wasn’t recoiling away from her.

Nick was pressing his fingers to each scar left by Melody Ringer and her knuckles, tracing the lines that hadn’t yet begun to fade. He looked soft, yet hard at the same time, like he was nothing but tired and sad. Chaplain wanted the feeling to go away, so she covered his hand with hers and smiled. “We have to go. My tiny screaming goblin is going to get suspicious and the rest of mi familia is going to be worried.”

“Of course,” Nick nodded, smiling, “Of course. I’ll lend you some shorts and a shirt, then I’ll take you back to your place. I’m pretty sure Liv is sending you on leave today, at least until your family flies home.” The thought of her family leaving put a pit in her stomach, but she nodded anyways. They would be safer in Lansing- and they would take Jace with them if Chaplain asked.

And Chaplain was going to ask them to take her back, to keep her safe. That’s the only thing she could thing of to do, to promise her mother and her family. Jace was her main concern. Nick noticed, when he climbed out of bed and she didn’t follow, that something was wrong. He sat back down and looked at Chaplain who was curled up in the covers, sitting up. She looked sullen and pale, like she was thinking about a great tragedy. When she noticed Nick gazing at her, she spoke.

“I’m going to send Jace back to Lansing.” She said, voice filled with determination, “And she’s going to hate me for it. But I have to do it, for her. To keep her safe.”

“I would send Zara away,” Nick mumbled, “And Gil, too. I would want them safe.” The adults shared a brief moment of partnership and then Chaplain swung her legs from under the covers and stood, silently asking Nick for clothing to dress in.

* * *

The argument was explosive, Jace red faced and shaking while the rest of the family was back at the hotel and packing. Chaplain could feel her blood boiling and her cap threatening to fly off, but she would never.

“It’s not safe,” Chaplain chopped through the air, “It is not safe here!”

“It’s not safe there!” She screamed, “It is not safe there! I’m not safe anywhere when I’m not with you! You’re the only one who can keep me safe!” Chaplain felt herself groan and grit her teeth. “I don’t want to be anywhere besides with you.”

“I can’t keep you safe!” The scream ripped from her throat before she could stop it, the first time she had truly raised her voice to Jace, “I cannot keep you safe! I’m a fucking NYPD detective and I couldn’t even keep myself safe from a perp’s mother! Don’t you understand? Look at my face, look at my hearing aid! If I can’t protect myself, how am I supposed to protect you?”

“So send me to live with Matt!”

Chaplain barked out a bitter laugh and turned away from the teen, running a harsh hand down her face. “Yes, send you to the man who got my father out of jail. ¿Por lo menos entender lo que se está sugiriendo? Do you?” She loomed over Jace and felt fear flicker in her stomach, “You are going home with Pipo y Abuelita y eso es definitivo!” Her voice echoed through the apartment and Jace leered for a moment too long before turning on her heel, slamming her bedroom door as she went.

Chaplain staggered to a kitchen stool and pressed her cheek against the cool surface of the marble. Her heart calmed and she was almost asleep when Jace came sprinting from her room, terrified look in her eyes. “He’s in my room!” Her voice broke during the whisper., “Aunt Lain, he’s in the house!”

Chaplain stood, stool falling behind her, as her father emerged from the teen’s room with a baseball bat and a leering grin.


	14. 14.

 

Everything inside of Nick Amaro was telling him that something was wrong. He couldn’t sleep and it wasn’t the empty bed that made it impossible. It was the feeling in his gut, the way all of his muscles coiled tightly, as if he was in the middle of a fight.

The tension was coiled so tightly in his body it was giving him a headache that was moving down into his neck, making his spine tingle with pain and paranoia. He hadn’t felt like that in years- nearly a decade- and it was enough to make him dizzy and sick to the stomach. Around eleven that night he gave up sleep and rolled out of bed, running a hand through his hair, before fumbling for his cell phone in the dark. He squinted at the screen when it lit up and instead of seeing a photograph of Zara and Gil, he saw a text.

Nobody ever texted Nick- it was always hurried phone calls or voicemails because his phone was dead or away from him. He swiped the message and put in his password before analyzing the number. It was unknown, which was doubly odd, but the message made his blood burn cold in his veins. It was a simple message, just _911_ , and Nick didn’t know who it could have come from. First he called Maria and Cynthia, making sure his kids were safe. Then he moved on to calling his coworkers- everyone was okay.

But that left one person.

Nick didn’t bother to call- instead he stood and pulled on a flannel over his white undershirt, pulling on the jeans he had been wearing before laying down to sleep. Shoes were an afterthought, held in his hands until he was down the steps of his apartment building. Olivia had luckily set up Chaplain’s family in a hotel close to his apartment- a five minute walk and a three minute brisk jog. When Raquel answered the door she was red-faced and shaky, turning and calling for her father in Spanish.

Raúl rushed to the door, leaving Enrique in the arms of Chaplain’s mother. Nick shut the door behind him and embraced the elder man, question in his eyes, “Have you heard from Chaplain or Jace?” Nick asked, pulling his phone out, “Do you recognize this number?”

Raúl shook is head and then pointed to the bathroom, “You need to see this. We called Detective Benson and she’s on her way but when we came home from dinner we saw this.” Nick sucked in a gasp and took in the photography taped up on the walls- pictures of Matt bloodied and hogtied on a grungy floor looking out of it, pictures of Jace horrified and crying in a corner, pictures of Chaplain tied to a chair looking livid and fully alive.

“Fuck,” Nick breathed, one finger trailing down the side of Chaplain’s face, anger burning through it. “Is this? Do you know?”

“Yes,” Raúl grunted, “It’s him. Nicole, she recognizes the handwriting.” Nick cocked and eyebrow, taking the bloodied paper Raúl handed him, opening it with shaky hands. He read over it and cursed once more, handing it back to Chaplain’s father. Nick ran a heavy hand down his face, feeling the stubble that was beginning to grow. “Chaplain, she trusts you. I’m not sure that Matthew knows about the both of you, so why would Winston know about you? And, if we can find Winston maybe we can find Joanne.”

“I thought?” Nick was confused, “Isn’t Joanne Jace’s mother?”

“No, that’s Tanya. Joanne- she’s just missing. The day that Tanya died and Chaplain was so hurt… Joanne just disappeared. It breaks Nicole’s heart not knowing.” Nick nodded and turned to leave, but Raúl caught the man’s arm and pushed the bathroom door shut.

“Yo sé que son buenos para Chaplain. Yo sé que son buenos para Jace. Ayúdanos a ahorrar, por favor. Por favor.” Nick looked at Raúl and nodded, jaw set.

“Voy a encontrar a las chicas. Voy a protegerlos.” He answered, “I won’t be able to live with myself if something happens to Chaplain or Jace. I’ll work to reopen Joanne’s case. Winston will go down for this. Voy a apostar mi carrera en ella.” Raúl bit his lip and clasped Nick close to his body, holding the man tight.

“Gracias,” Raúl whispered shakily, tears dripping onto Nick’s shoulder, “Thank you.” From the other room someone shrieked as the door opened and Nick whipped around, throwing open the door and drawing his gun. He came face to face with Jace, shivering and bleeding and crying. As soon as the teen laid eyes on him she threw herself at him, wailing at the top of her lungs. Olivia entered soon after, looking frazzled and scared.

Nick sunk to the ground, cooing into Jace’s ears in a soft voice. He switched between Spanish and English whilst he pushed his fingers through her blonde hair, matted with blood. Looking up to his boss his eyes were wide and frightened, tears brimming. She looked back at them. Neither knew what to do.

* * *

The world around her was buzzing, room spinning as her head was tucked against her chest. She couldn’t remember anything but the flashes of a camera and screaming, screaming so loud she coughed up blood. Was she screaming in pain or anger?

_Where was Jace?_

Why could she feel hands on her shoulders, jerking her awake but not hear anything? Chaplain raised her head and came face to face with Winston, fear and adrenaline flooding her senses. He was speaking, grinning wolfishly with blood on his knuckles, but the only thing Chaplain could hear was the ringing in her ears. Her hearing aid was crushed on the floor- she could see that- so that’s why she couldn’t hear.

No.

That was wrong.

Chaplain should have been able to hear, to hear the booming laughter come from the man in front of her but she couldn’t. With a start she realized she could hear nothing from her left ear and only a constant buzzing in her right. With a chill Chaplain realized that Winston had probably beat her deaf.

It was in that moment, eyes darting about the empty basement and only seeing Matt there, that Chaplain realized she’d never be a detective again. She wouldn’t be able to go back to Lansing and be a firefighter- her career was over.

And if her career was over she could kill Winston.

The thought, paired with a heavy handed slap to the face, made her blood run too hot though her veins. Where had the thought of murder come from? Yes, she had hated Winston more than anything for most of her life- but murder? Her hatred had never burned that deep.

Maybe it was the flashes of a baseball bat against her skull, Jace’s whimpering and begging, an explosion of pain on the left side of her head and the ringing that followed that fueled her rage. Maybe it was the picture of Tanya that Winston had hanging across the room, her body tangled with death and blood.

But it was probably the way he ran the tip of a knife down her forearm, teasing the tape that held her wrist to the chair before slicing at the skin on the top of her hand. Chaplain howled as it burned through her skin, blood pooling almost immediately. He was speaking, but she didn’t understand. When she didn’t respond Winston raised his hand clutching the knife and slapped her, leaving a sharp line of blood across her cheekbone.

She didn’t cry out but the room flexed at the edges of her vision, going hazy with a fog that she willed to come and take her away. Was it death? Was it passing out? In the corner, Matt shifted against his restraints.

Chaplain ached for him. He was innocent as far as she knew, sucked in by her father’s charm and the wit that he used to keep her from mentioning the abuse for all of those years. He truly thought his father was a good man, not a rapist or a killer, and it landed him in a room with the psychopath. Chaplain made eye contact with her frantic brother and shook her head. He needed to stay down, to pretend to be asleep, and maybe he would miss the brunt of Winston’s rage.

Chaplain’s whole body stiffened and pounded with pain when she saw the glint of a gun emerge from the waistband of her father’s pants. He was taunting her, surely, but she couldn’t read his lips because they were split and chapped, teeth missing from years of drug use. She wished she had her hearing aid- but would it even work if Chaplain couldn’t hear anything from her left ear?

“Where’s Jace?” She spoke, voice thick in her throat, vibrating through her skull. She didn’t hear it and she was unsure if she had actually said the right things. The syllables felt cottony in her mouth and throat as they left.

Winston threw his head back and cackled, speaking rapidly after.

“I can’t hear you.” Chaplain urged her voice to be strong, “So find another way to tell me where my Goddamn niece is, you mother fucker.” Another slap and slice of the blade was delivered before Winston squatted in front of her.

In very rudimentary sign, something that Hearing people would make up to speak silently with each other he said:

_Girl dead. You killed her._

Mustering all the blood and spit Chaplain could pool in her mouth she spit directly in Winston’s face. He recoiled and roared and the next thing she knew she was keeling backward, hitting the concrete floor with her skull.

Chaplain’s vision swam even more, the pain resonating from her skull, down her spine. It ran from the tips of her toes to her fingers and everywhere in between. Her body ached for the death she was about to go through, for Jace who would lose the only mother in her life, for Nick and _whatever_ he thought of her. She ached for her mother, for Raúl, for Raquel and Enrique. She ached for the fact that her brother was in the corner and he was screaming, screaming as he looked at the gun and she couldn’t hear him.

She couldn’t help him.

She couldn’t help anyone, not even herself.

Chaplain wept and she wept for herself. She wept for the burning pain that was crawling up her leg from the knife pushing through her jeans to her skin, she wept for the fact that she was swimming in darkness, struggling to stay awake. She was not going to survive, at least, she didn’t think she was going to be able to survive but then Winston cut her restraints.

Her legs were freed first and they flopped forward, knees clattering against her chin, but then her wrists were freed and Chaplain managed to get on her feet. She was thrown off balance but put her fists up. Winston grinned and tossed the gun behind him, rushing her. He landed two hits before she could get one out and her fist didn’t make purchase because she was stumbling backward, trying to stay up on her feet. Finally she got a quick _one two_ in but then Winston lunged at her, slicing her bicep with the knife and the door burst open behind him.

Another gun came out from his waistband and he wrapped a heavy arm around Chaplain’s neck. She smiled, blood dribbling down her lips, when she saw Nick and Carisi burst in, jaws tight and guns drawn. She could feel the rumble of spoken words on her back and could see Nick arguing, but she still couldn’t hear anything.

She was lost- so when Winston jerked and fired off a round, she nearly passed out. Nick and Sonny both fired some rounds, barely missing Chaplain, but Winston dropped behind her as she fell forward to her hands and knees, darkness spinning up to meet her. She welcomed it, a small smile on her face, because Nick was there. He had come for her, to save her, and that’s all she needed to know. She welcomed the darkness, no longer scared. Nick was there for her.

She was safe.

* * *

The warmth blanketed her in every way possible, but the most warmth came from the hands gripping her own. Cracking open her eyes, Chaplain licked her lips and found Jace asleep to her left, Nick asleep to her right.

She still couldn’t hear anything, but she could feel gauze wrapped around her head and different places on her body. “Nick,” She croaked, “Nicky,” She was trying not to wake Jace, but when her arms jerked she knew the teenager was away. “Jace.” The girl threw her body onto her aunt and Chaplain wheezed, but kissed at Jace’s forehead anyways. They both cried and Nick cried, too but he stepped back and let them have their moment.


	15. 15.

Chaplain swung her legs over the side of her childhood bed, head down as her elbows rested heavily on her knees.

Every fiber of her body ached with nothingness and pain. Her fingers crawled over her head as she bent her face toward the ground, breath leaving her mouth shakily. The short, shaved hair tickled the pads of her fingers, the smell of bleach still wafting from her en suite.

Sounds around her were muffled but she didn’t bother reaching for her hearing aid. Not on that day. Not on the day of the funerals. Two funerals. Two too many funerals, two sisters lost, one father lost. Her mind was a swirling mess.

Chaplain sighed as a hand trailed up her back and pulled her back into a warm embrace. Neither adult spoke and the man who was holding her simply rubbed small circles on her stomach, in between two heavy bruises.

She still hurt.

Every inch of her body ached with bruises and her mind pulsated with the thought of her sister buried under a gazebo in a small park just outside of Lansing, of Jace across the room, sleeping, of everything that had happened in her life. Chaplain just wanted it all to be over but Nick’s lips on her shoulder kept her sane, even when another headache blossomed over her forehead.

Chaplain couldn’t keep anything straight, not times, not names, not anything. She jerked away from Nick after a moment, snatching her hearing aid off of the side table before strutting from her old room. The house, the one she knew as a safe haven, twisted in her vision as she locked herself in another bathroom, eyes glued to the sink as she put in her hearing aid, turning it on, finally hearing the ambient noise of the household.

After her father beat her deaf in her left ear, she found out that she was only at twenty percent in her right ear, but with the help of the hearing aid she would be back at least at ninety percent hearing. She leaned against the counter and sighed, closing her eyes.

A knock on the door drew her attention.

“Chaplain?” Her mother’s voice was muffled through the wood, but Chaplain didn’t hear her, “It’s time for breakfast.” Chaplain jumped away as the door opened, heart heaving, breathing heavily. Her mother curled around the door and smiled at her daughter, watching the younger woman relax visibly. “I’m sorry. Breakfast is ready. Can you wake Nick and Jace?”

Chaplain only nodded, barely rustling up a smile for her mother. She shirked by and pushed gently into the bedroom where Nick and Jace were already awake, sitting silently next to each other. Chaplain could tell Jace had been crying but Nick was there, Nick was comforting her.

Chaplain felt numb and indifferent, guilty that she felt so. Quickly she crossed the room and took Jace into her arms. Her niece began crying, sobbing, and Chaplain struggled to hold her weight up.

“Nothing makes sense,” Chaplain confessed to Jace, “Nothing makes sense except waking up and taking care of myself to take care of you. You’re my everything.” Jace nodded and pulled her aunt closer.

“I thought I lost you.”

“I know. But Nick and Sonny saved me. And I am here, and I am alive.”

It was the first time they had talked, really talked since Chaplain had woken up in the hospital. It had been nearly three weeks. Chaplain smoothed down Jace’s hair and kissed at the side of her forehead, “Abuelita has breakfast for us, mi amor,” She whispered, “Go eat before Raquel y Enrique get worried.”

Jace smiled up at Chaplain and nodded, walking slowly from the room, leaving Chaplain and Nick together, alone, for the first time in those three weeks. She watched with guarded eyes as he approached, cupping the side of her face. He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead and smiled at her, all soft eyes and love. She smiled at him and leaned into his touch, gentle and warm.

“Te amo,” Nick whispered, just like he had been since she woke up in the hospital, “You don’t have to say it. Pero te amo.”

“Lo sé, Nick, y lo siento.” She whispered back, reaching forward to grab at his white undershirt, pulling herself close, “I’m so sorry.” No more tears burned at her eyes but Nick ducked to kiss them away, anyway. Then he gently pressed his lips to hers, wrapping his arms around her.

“Don’t be sorry, Chaplain. You’ve come so far. You’ve been through so much.” Nick sighed and kissed her again, “I love you. Don’t be sorry.” Chaplain smiled and nodded, running her fingers over the exposed skin above Nick’s waistline. She loved how strong he was, how warm. Chaplain loved how extremely there Nick was to her. He had been her rock throughout the healing process in the hospital, getting fitted for a hearing aid in the wrong ear… Nick was even taking night classes to learn sign in case shit went down and Jace was going with him.

Her world seemed covered in light but she was a beacon of darkness, rotting away with each day that passed. “Let’s go to breakfast, before Raúl comes up here.” Nick paled but grinned at Chaplain, leaning to kiss her for a couple of seconds longer than necessary.

“Te amo, Chaplain. Te amo.”

* * *

Nick’s hand kept Chaplain’s knee from bouncing too much as they watched her mother give a eulogy for Joanne. He couldn’t tell if she was mad or scared, maybe sad. She was so hard to read but he didn’t care. He loved her, no doubt about it. He loved the way she looked plain before she shaved her head and bleached it but he still loved the way she looked with a strong jawline and buzzed, blonde hair.

He loved her freckles, the way the clustered over her nose and branched out over her cheekbones. Nick loved her lips and the way they pursed sideways when she was trying to hide an emotion and he loved her body and her mind and they was she loved with her whole heart.

Nick, for once, didn’t care that she didn’t love him back. He didn’t need her to. Nick just needed her to be safe, needed her to be happy. But she let him kiss her and hold her and press his body against hers when he needed someone. Chaplain turned, in the middle of the eulogy, and buried her face into Nick’s shoulder.

She shook with silent cries and clutched onto his shirt. Nick wrapped her up into his arms and pulled her from her seat. He rubbed up her back as she bit into his shirt to keep her crying muffled.

Nick’s heart broke for her and he felt the warmth of tears drip down his cheeks as he stood and pulled Chaplain from the room. She jerked away from Nick when they slammed through the door into the frigid Lansing air, stalking away from Nick heavily. He watched her as she violently pulled open the back door and threw herself into the backseat. After a moment of watching his car Nick finally made his way toward it, opening the same door Chaplain had abused. He slipped in and sat back, trying to memorize the ceiling of his car.

“Do you want to talk?” Nick asked, blindly reaching for some sort of physical contact with Chaplain. “I know the answer is no… But… Your therapist says that talking will help. My anger management counselor says that talking helps. If that many people with degrees in the human mind say that, it must be true.” Chaplain let the ghost of a smile grace her face before she shifted, letting Nick take her in his arms. He smiled when she relaxed against him but Nick’s spine stiffened when she spoke.

“I love you, Nick,” She whispered into the silence of the car, “I love you so much. Thank you for not abandoning me.” His heart welled and he shifted until they were draped over the expanse of the backseat, tangled together. He held her close, so tightly that Nick wondered if her bruises were protesting, but neither moved.

“Te amo, te amo.” He said, “I love you, Chaplain.” With the whisper of her name she broke, clutching to Nick and sobbing freely in the car.


End file.
